


Rather A Dead Lion...

by dipping_sauce (metabaron)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, Jossed, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2003-07-28
Updated: 2005-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-16 00:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1325473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metabaron/pseuds/dipping_sauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus is enlisted by the Unspeakables to help bring Sirius back from the 'dead' -- but for Sirius, this simply turns things from bad to unbearable. </p><p>[UNFINISHED AND ABANDONED AS OF 2005]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. dead lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first foray into Harry Potter fanfic, and the first piece of writing I had done in 4 years. I wrote this between OoTP and HBP, and it was originally supposed to be the first two chapters of a much longer work. Snape was going to show up in the next chapter, and eventually he and Sirius would go on the run together and hook up. 
> 
> I'm posting it to AO3 for posterity, and looking back from 2014, it's better and worse than I remember, and it just makes me sad I didn't get it together to finish it.
> 
> But I lost interest in HP after 2005, and then HBP came out, and Sirius was still dead... and this really took a turn for the melancholy. Wow.

"Ah, Mr Lupin! So good to see you."

The Portkey's familiar gut-wrench was barely subsiding as the man who greeted Remus took the offending object from his hands -- an empty ink bottle that had been converted to its new use by Albus Dumbledore only moments ago, and that Remus did not expect to still exist by nightfall.

The Unspeakable -- Remus had been told his name was Navidson -- set the Portkey atop one of the stone benches that circled the back wall of the amphitheatre. "You must understand," he said, "that the research conducted inside the Department of Mysteries is classified Double-Ultra Top Secret, so I'm afraid that, because we are unable to reveal to you any of our secrets for your own safety -- and sanity -- much of what we do here will seem utterly incomprehensible. We must ask that -- no matter how odd any request made -- you follow our orders without question."

Remus nodded in reply. This was nearly word-for-word the speech Dumbledore had given him before Remus had been entrusted with the details of the mission. The Department of Mysteries was staffed with very clever, very secretive, and very paranoid wizards and witches -- wizards and witches who had somehow managed to become even more paranoid after what had happened at the Department's heart between Harry Potter and Voldemort over the summer. These people made Alastor Moody seem _rational_.

It was, in Remus Lupin's opinion, about bloody time. The home of the Wizarding World's most secret affairs needed to be guarded by something more powerful than a watchman, some anti-Apparition wards, and spinning doors.

These days, one could only gain admittance with an authorized Portkey. Anything else, and the would-be invader found himself in a small interrogation chamber where a group of Aurors would soon be asking him a great many questions. (The Unspeakables might be paranoid, but they weren't without mercy. Or an appreciation of curiosity.)

The room Remus had been Portkeyed to was the subject of particularly intense security -- the new protective wards still glowed with a faint silver light on the rough-hewn stone walls of the chamber. Current speculation among members of the Order was that the Death Eaters might attempt to return at will and use the archway as their own private memory hole, eliminating... undesirables without having to worry about disposing of the bodies or an _Avada Kedavra_ that would be revealed were a _Priori Incantatem_ administered to their wands.

Odd how a few wards could make a room look so different. Feeling his host's gaze on him, Remus turned around. Navidson was smiling blandly at him. For a man who dealt with fundamental mysteries of the universe on a daily basis, he looked remarkably like a bureaucrat, right down to his prissy, too-neat moustache. Remus hid his own smile behind a discreet cough.

"If you'll follow me, Mr Lupin, we're nearly ready for you."

It was then that Remus realized the two of then weren't alone in the chamber. Two witches, one on either side of the archway, were drawing intricate, invisible patterns in the air with their wands as they whispered incantations, and a young wizard was intently watching a crystalline contraption he held only inches from the surface of the curtain hanging in the archway.

The curtain...

It seemed to be moving, rippling and pulsing as if inhabited by a life of its own. Only Dumbledore's insistence that he keep his mouth shut unless told otherwise kept Remus from peppering Navidson and his colleagues with questions.

Almost as if he could read Lupin's thoughts, Navidson asked, "Do you know what day it is, Mr Lupin?"

What? "Yes. It's Hallowe'en."

"And do you know what the significance of this holiday was, Mr Lupin, before it was co-opted as an excuse for trickery and mischief?"

"Of course." Remus remembered that particular History of Magic lesson very well. It had been on the importance on the lunar calendar in Wizarding tradition, and that had managed to pique his interest enough to counteract the influence of Binns' coma-inducing delivery. "The barrier between the world of the living and the world of the dead, for lack of a better term, was thinned, and various ghosts and spirits were able to cross over unhin- Good Lord. Are you saying that's... ?"

Navidson's lips quirked into an odd little smile, and he suddenly looked nothing at all like a bureaucrat. "Oh, no, Mr Lupin, _I_ said nothing of the sort. The assumption was all yours." The odd little smile widened. "But I don't believe anything would be amiss in telling you that you are, for the most part, correct."

Navidson lead Lupin to the foot of the archway's dais. "This is a fragment of that barrier -- we call it the veil -- made corporeal and visible. It is thousands upon thousands of years old, and, no, we don't know how it was made. I certainly would not be surprised if dark magic were involved in the creation of such an artefact, but I do fear that might be a naive assumption. We still do not know what purpose this originally served. If any."

Lupin took a deep breath, trying to quell the mad poundings of his heart. He passed his tongue over his suddenly-dry lips. It had felt so unreal when Dumbledore had given him his assignment, but now, seeing this... "What are you saying? Will Sirius-"

"Ah ah ah! You're skipping ahead, Mr Lupin!"

"I'm sorry. It's just- I was told there might be a way to- to resurrect Sirius-"

"No. It is impossible to bring the dead back to life, Mr Lupin. Every wizard knows this -- or at least they should."

Remus ignored the insult. "Then why am I here if it's impossible to revive Sirius?"

The Unspeakable sighed. "Mr Lupin. We cannot revive Mr Black, because in the strictest sense of the word, he did not truly _die_."

 _What?_ "What? That's impossible. I saw him fall through that thing myself. I saw him disappear!"

"Indeed you did. And that is precisely why we are able to bring him back. Mr Black did not cross the veil in the normal way -- as a spirit -- but instead went bodily. Mr Black, in his entirety, is in the afterlife."

Remus laughed in spite of himself. "He always had- has to be different."

"Mm, yes. Now, normally, passage through the veil is one way -- and one alone -- but-"

"But tonight it's thinned. You can go through both ways."

"Exactly."

Remus passed a hand over his face, ran his fingers through his hair. "My God. This is just- It seems so-"

"Unbelievable? Unreal? Oh, yes. I must confess that, though we've done this over a dozen times in my years as an Unspeakable, that feeling never does quite go away."

Over a dozen... "Are you saying that Sirius wasn't-"

"Mr Lupin?" It was the young wizard who had been watching the veil, his crystalline contraption now put away. "We're ready for you."

Remus stepped up on to the dais to face the archway. "What is it you need me to do?" This close to it, he could hear noises coming from behind the veil. It sounded as though he was standing very near to a wasps' nest.

"Just stand where you are, Mr Lupin." Navidson nodded at the two witches, who began another series of incantations as they drew blood-red glyphs in the air with their wands. Remus recognized a few of the shapes -- they were powerful, powerful protective wards, and were used specifically to guard against centuries-old Dark creatures and their ilk. If such protection was needed for someone who was only standing near the archway, Remus wasn't sure he wanted to know exactly what lived on the other side of the veil.

After a moment, once the witches' spellcasting seemed to have fallen into a regular rhythm, Navidson continued, his voice barely more than a whisper: "Mr Lupin. Mr Black is behind the veil. We need you to speak to him, to use your words -- your voice -- as a sort of anchor, something that might draw him through. Ah, this is not the most fool-proof part of the procedure, so if you feel at any point that you are unable to continue -- for _any_ reason, we won't hold it against you -- either myself or Edgecoombe," a nod to the young wizard, "will take over for you-"

His resolve steeled, Remus interrupted Navidson. "But it will work best if it's a voice Sirius will recognize. If it's _me_."

"Oh, yes. But the veil does strange things to people who are unused to it, even when it isn't Samhain. Please understand that we will restrain you by any means necessary if you attempt to breech it."

"Of course. No sense losing anyone else." A thought occurred to him. "Couldn't we just use a Summoning charm?"

"No. Magic has strange effects on the, ah, things that live beyond the veil. Believe me, we have tried it, and the results are not pleasant. Not pleasant at all."

"Oh." Remus turned back to the veil. "May I begin?"

Navidson simply bowed in reply.

"Sirius?" He felt ridiculous. _Draw him out_ , the man had said. _God knows I've done enough of that over the years to be good at it. Pretend it's a door, Remus. Pretend you're calling him for supper._ "Sirius, it's me. It's Remus. I know you're there, Sirius. I need you to come here, Sirius, I need you to come to me." He looked over at Navidson, who nodded encouragingly.

Remus closed his eyes. This might be easier if he didn't have to deal with the nausea-inducing writhings of the veil. The noises were bad enough. "Sirius. It's Remus. I need you to come here, Sirius. It's important, Sirius, _please_.

"I need you here, Sirius, for _me_. For Dumbledore. For the Order. We need your help, Sirius. I need you for... for...

"For _Harry_. I need you to come through the veil for Harry-"

Someone had thrown themself into his arms. Remus opened his eyes. Sirius Black stared back at him. "... Remus?"

Before Remus could formulate any kind of reply, Navidson had grabbed them both and hustled them off the dais. Edgecoombe jumped in front of the archway and began to cast incantations faster than anyone Remus had ever seen. Navidson was beaming. "Oh, excellent, excellent! Just a moment, Mr Black," he added as he drew his wand. "We simply need to ascertain that you are who we think you are."

"That I'm what? Remus, what's going on? Where's Harry? We need to help him, the Death Eaters-"

"Harry's fine, Sirius. Just let the man do what he needs to do."

Remus disentangled himself from Sirius' arms and took a step back to give Navidson room. The assurance seemed to have mollified Sirius, as he submitted wordlessly to the Unspeakable's examinations.

"So do I pass muster?" Sirius asked as Navidson slipped his wand back into his robes.

"Oh, yes, quite. I do not see any evidence that you aren't who you should be, or that you unwittingly brought a stowaway back from your sojourn behind the veil."

"Sojourn? What? Remus, will you _please_ tell me what the fuck is going on? Where's Harry?"

"He's at Hogwarts, Sirius. He's got half the staff keeping an eye on him. He's fine, I swear."

Sirius clenched his jaw, his lips pressed together in a thin white line. "You didn't answer my question. Moony, what-"

"This is neither the time, nor the place. _Later_ , Sirius, I promise. Mr Navidson," he continued, addressing the Unspeakable, "will there- is there any kind of permanent damage that accompanies what- what happened to Sirius?"

Navidson's lips quirked back into that odd little smile. "Mr Lupin, this isn't some badly-written Muggle novel. What is beyond the veil cannot, by its very nature be understood by a living mind. As you've seen, Mr Black had no idea that any time had elapsed between when he went into the archway and when he came out."

"How-"

"Over four months, Sirius. Tomorrow's the first of November. Shh."

"For him, it is as if nothing happened. I promise you, Mr Black will have no funny turns, no terrifying nightmares, nor any odd, inexplicable transformations."

Remus wondered if Navidson had read the same 'badly-written Muggle novels' that he had. "So if Sirius wasn't aware of what went on, how was I able to talk him back here?"

Navidson spread his arms and shrugged. "Mr Lupin, I truly have no idea. It is what works, is all I can say. We have theories, of course, but no conclusive proof one way or another."

"A mystery, then."

A smile. "Yes.

"Besides, by _his_ very nature, Mr Black is anathema to such a place. He would be seen as an infection -- a tumour of sorts -- and expelled as soon as the opportunity presented itself."

"My _nature_? What the hell is wrong with my _nature_?"

"What is wrong is that you are alive. That place is for things that are not."

Remus scratched the back of his neck, and surveyed the room. "You know, the last time I was here, I thought this place was an execution chamber. For things the Ministry didn't want people to know about."

Navidson laughed loudly. The sound rung hollow in the amphitheatre. "Oh, goodness, no."

"So why the audience?" Sirius asked, jerking his thumb at the seats lining the room.

"Because, Mr Black, before we developed the wards we used today, we needed to fit as many witches and wizards in the room as was possible -- to repel the things that came through when the veil thinned. Arranging them amphitheatre-style was the most efficient method we found."

Sirius had kept his eyes fixed on the Unspeakable during their exchange, the furrow in his brow growing deeper with every word. The expression on his face was one Remus knew too well -- Sirius was primed for a fight. He still had his wand out, though -- thankfully -- not at the ready. Remus hoped Sirius could control himself until they left.

"If that's all, Mr Lupin?"

"Yes. Yes. And, thank you. I can't imagine how difficult this must have been to orchestrate, and there just aren't enough words to express my-"

"Mr Lupin! Please. Think nothing of it. Over the years, this has become nearly an annual event for the Department. Mr Black certainly isn't the first to have accidentally fallen through the veil."

"Maybe you should think about putting a rope around it, so it doesn't happen again," Sirius snarled.

"Perhaps. But this is the Department of Mysteries. Carelessness of this sort is not a desired trait among our staff. Hard lesson though this might be, a few months of missing time spent beyond the veil does make even the clumsiest of Unspeakables a trifle bit more attentive."

At the man's tone -- talking about falling into hell as if it were no more than an everyday occurrence, or, worse, a disciplinary action -- Remus felt himself grow cold. And judging by the look on Sirius' face ( _"It's not you, Lily, really, that's just the face he pulls whenever he thinks someone's being a maniac"_ ), Remus knew he wasn't alone in his opinion.

"Mr Navidson, I was told that you would be responsible for our departure?"

"Ah, yes. I have the Portkey right here," he said, pulling a particularly garish novelty coffee mug from his robes. "I must warn you in advance that this is one-use only. It will take you to your destination, and then revert to an ordinary coffee cup. For security's sake, I would advise you to destroy it upon arrival."

Only a quick jab to Sirius' side made sure he bit back whatever sharp retort he would have made to Navidson. Remus ignored his glare and took the Portkey from the Unspeakable's hands.

"You need to touch it, Mr Black."

"I _know_ ," Sirius snapped, but put his palm flat against the side of the mug without another word.

Navidson drew his wand. "Good-bye, Mr Lupin, Mr Black. I wish I could say otherwise, but I doubt I will ever see the two of you again."

"Good-bye."

The Unspeakable tapped the cup with his wand.

It felt to Remus as though he were being pulled by his intestines into the cup. The odd, inside-out feeling that always accompanied any voyage he took by Portkey (and the reason he avoided using them) lasted no more than a split-second. _Not very far, then. I wonder if we're still in London._

They had arrived in a small, dark room, lit only by the glow of the street lamps outside. From the noises coming through the room's sole window -- cars and music and _people_ \-- they had arrived in the heart of a Muggle city.

The electric ceiling lamp flickered for a moment, and then came to life, flooding the room with harsh white light. Remus took the room in with a glance, and wished the light had stayed off. It wasn't much to look at. The walls were white and in desperate need of a new coat of paint, the floorboards were scuffed and dirty, and the only piece of furniture was a bed, pushed into a corner so its head was near the window. There were none of the personal touches that indicated that anyone actually lived here. Remus wondered what purpose the room had served before being converted into a bedroom.

Through a door opposite the window, he saw the hall that lead to the rest of the flat. It too looked rather cramped.

Sirius, who had released his hold on the cup after they had materialized, was looking around the small room, his upper lip curled in a sneer. " _Now_ where are we?"

Remus dropped the mug to the floor, waved his wand over it; it vanished. Once satisfied that it was well and truly gone, he met Sirius' eyes. "This is a safehouse. Beyond that, I don't know where we are, and to be truthful, I'd like to keep it that way. I'm told this place has some rather... interesting protective wards -- I think some of our deep cover agents used it during the seventies -- so you should be secure enough. I doubt even Albus himself knows exactly where it is."

Sirius had stepped up to the window and was watching the street below. "And I couldn't have spent the last year here because... ?"

"I don't know, Sirius, I really don't."

"Right. Okay. Well, I'll ask Dumbledore next time I see him." Sirius turned around and sat on the window ledge, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "Four months. So. What did I miss?"

Remus sighed. He had been dreading this. "Sirius... There's no easy way for me to tell you this, so I'll be blunt. Until an hour ago, I thought you were dead. We all did. Harry included," he added to answer Sirius' unspoken question. "When I saw you fall through that thing during your duel with Bellatrix, I assumed the worst. You just- vanished."

"I don't blame you," Sirius said quietly. "I would have thought the same."

Well. _That_ was too easy. "The prophecy's been destroyed-"

" _Fuck_."

"- but fortunately before Voldemort et al got a chance to see it," Remus continued, as he ticked each point off on his fingers. "All the Death Eaters present -- save your cousin -- were put in Azkaban." 

A sharp, bitter laugh.

"The Minister -- and the Ministry -- have now seen reason. For this, we can thank Voldemort, of all people. He deigned to grace us with his presence after the prophecy was shattered, and Fudge saw him."

"Pity that's all that happened to that little prick."

"I know. Dumbledore's told Harry about the prophecy -- because he needs to know, he really does -- and given him a rundown on most of what's been going on."

"'Most'?"

Remus shrugged. "His word, Padfoot, not mine."

"And Harry still thinks I'm dead?" Remus nodded, and Sirius laughed. "Get me to the nearest owlery, Moony, and I'll fix that right quick."

"No, you won't."

There. _There_. Now it was out. Now all that was left was to ride out Sirius' inevitable fury. But Remus Lupin had done that for years. It would be no hardship.

" _WHAT?!_ What the _fuck_ , Moony? He's my godson, of course I'm going to fucking tell him-"

" _Sirius_. Sirius, hear me out. Dumbledore has his reasons for not wanting-"

"Tell me, then. Tell me. What are his reasons? Why the fuck am I supposed to keep Harry in the dark about this? Do you have _any_ idea how he'll react when he finds out?"

"Yes, actually, I do," Remus said coolly. "He can handle it. He's more resilient than you think. As I said-"

"The reasons."

"Sorry?"

"You said Dumbledore had his reasons. What are they? Why can't I tell Harry?"

"Because. The Death Eaters can no longer use you to get to him. Which is what happened last year. Because Harry thought you were dead. And he will continue to think so until it is no longer necessary, Sirius, and not a moment before."

"I don't like this, Remus. I don't like this at all."

"He'll be fine."

Sirius sighed and ran his hand over his face. "I know. I know. It's just- it's- I-" Another sigh, enough for him to collect his thoughts. "He's been alone his whole life. I just don't want to hurt him."

"You're not hurting him."

"I'm not- Remus, he thinks I'm dead. He's- he's got no one. How is that _not_ hurting him?"

"Before, he was vulnerable through you. Now he isn't. Now Voldemort can't use you to get to him. We're- we're going around in circles on this, Sirius. Just accept it. A small hurt is better than a big one."

"It's not-"

"It _is_. Yes, he's in mourning, and, yes, I hate to see him like that, but he will come to accept it. And he will know you're someplace safe and unable to be hurt, and he will stop worrying for you."

"Worrying. God. And here I thought I was the adult."

A joke. Good sign, that. "He is his mother's son."

"He is that."

Remus sat down on the bed, winced as it groaned beneath him. Sirius met his eyes. "So."

"So."

"My mission, should I choose to accept it?"

"Your mission," Remus replied, ignoring the smirk on Sirius' face. "We need you to spy for us, Sirius. You will serve as our eyes and ears in places where the rest of us would be too conspicuous. You have a freedom of movement that we do not, and it will be put to good use. You will go where we can't-"

"As Padfoot."

"As Padfoot. Exactly. The Death Eaters know they no longer need to keep an eye out for you in either of your forms, but Sirius Black is still too recognizable to anyone in the Wizarding World -- not to mention, the Ministry is still under the delusion that you're alive."

"Really?"

"Dumbledore's keeping knowledge of the Order from Fudge for now -- we still don't know how many spies Voldemort has infiltrated in the Ministry, and we can't risk compromising the few agents of ours that he doesn't know about. You," he continued, "are too well-known to work as you are. But a big, black dog -- out of how many big, black dogs in all of Britain -- would not be remarked upon."

"Well, aside from 'My, what a big, black dog that is'."

"Yes, aside from that."

"Where do you need me to go?"

"For now, you're to lie low. Stay here. Read a few books, take in a film or three, go for long walks."

"So I'm allowed to go outside?"

"Yes," Remus said with a nod.

Sirius began to laugh. "Oh God. Oh God. You have no idea how good that sounds."

"I'll come 'round in a few weeks with the details of your first assignment-"

"Will it self-destruct after I've read it?"

"Sirius," Remus chided.

"Be serious?" And he laughed again.

 _God, but I've missed that sound._ It had been so long since he'd heard Sirius this genuinely happy. That damned house was the reason, of course. _Dumbledore couldn't have chosen someplace else? If I didn't know better, if I were a paranoid man..._ "No, it won't self-destruct. But I'd advise you to destroy anything-"

"I know the drill."

"I know. I should've remembered. I'm sorry."

"Mmm." A pause, long and awkward. Remus watched the wall, and Sirius, the street below. "How long can you stay?"

Remus glanced at his watch. "Another hour or so. But no longer. I've an early lesson tomorrow."

"'Lesson'?"

"Yes. I'm teaching again."

"Teaching?" Sirius asked, a note of surprise on his voice.

"Teaching."

"Defense Against the Dark Arts, right?"

"'Course." _Try to sound like you're not bragging, Remus._

" _Shit_ , Remus. Congratulations. How'd you manage that?"

"Dumbledore pulled some strings with the Board of Governors, made a trade with the Ministry. My job, in exchange for his silence regarding what Umbridge did at the school."

"Oooh, you got shafted on that one, mate. You could've milked that bitch for all she was worth."

"Sirius. Please note the operative words: _his_ silence."

"Aha. So how many 'How the Ministry fucked up my NEWTs' articles have there been in the _Prophet_ in the last few months?"

"Not as many as you'd expect. The Ministry is supposed to be our ally, after all."

"Oh, who the fuck cares. They deserve to be taken to task for what they did, playing nice be damned."

"You really believe that?"

"Yes! They fucked up, they should pay for it."

"And to hell with all the effort we made to get them to see the light, is that it?"

"I didn't-"

"No. You didn't. Come on. I nearly forgot. There are things in the kitchen I have to show you." The bed creaked ominously as he stood. Remus didn't bother to look behind him to see if Sirius followed him into the hall.

The kitchen was the next door down.

"In here," Remus said. The lights had been left on, and he was glad for that. It was a small gesture of courtesy -- something _normal_ \-- that was much welcome after a night of such strangeness.

The kitchen was larger than the bedroom had been, but was no less dismal, smelling of old cabbages and burnt food. The countertop was stained, the appliances several decades old, and the small table in the centre of the room was chipped and looked ready to tip over. Again, any signs that the flat had ever been lived in were gone.

Atop the table were a few newspapers (Muggle one and all, from the looks of them), a bulky Manila envelope, and a neat stack of Muggle currency notes.

Sirius picked up the latter and riffled through it. "I love Muggle money. It's so colourful."

"There's supposed to be about a thousand pounds there."

"Wow."

"It's not as much as you think. These days, the pound is worth rather less than the Galleon. And be frugal. That's got to last you a good while. And these, I suppose," he said, waving his hand over the various newspapers, "are so you don't sound like a complete tit if someone asks you about anything deeper than the weather."

"And what's in the envelope?"

"Don't open it," Remus snapped as Sirius made to do just that. "It's a Portkey, it's activated by your touch, and you're to use it only in an emergency situation. I don't know where it's spelled to take you, though I assume it's somewhere safe. Grimmauld Place, most likely. You're to keep it on you at all times."

Sirius pocketed the Portkey in silence.

"There should be Muggle clothes in one of the other rooms. They should fit you, though they might be a bit big."

"You know if there's any food in the 'fridge?"

"I haven't the faintest clue. There's supposed to be a grocer's within walking distance, so you can stock up there."

With an absent nod, Sirius unfolded one of the newspapers and bent down to scan the headlines.

"What else... Use magic as little as possible. The last thing we need is for you to attract the Ministry's attention. And keep your nose clean."

Sirius looked up. "You're leaving already?"

"It's later than I thought."

Something close to hurt flitted across Sirius' features, but it had come and gone so fast that Remus could nearly convince himself that he hadn't seen it. And without another moment's hesitation, Sirius had closed the gap between them with two great strides and drew Remus to him in a rib-crushing embrace.

Remus went stiff. And then, hating himself for his reluctance and praying that Sirius would mistake it for surprise, he relaxed into his friend's arms and slipped his own arms around Sirius' back. It was only the layers of clothing between them that kept the pounding of his Judas heart from betraying the extent of his unease. He felt Sirius' hot breath on his neck, and he tightened the embrace, burrowing his face into his friend's shoulder. _Yesterday, I would have given the world to be able to do this again. And now... and now..._

"Take care of yourself," he whispered in Sirius' ear. 

They pulled away at the same time. Remus took a step back, nodded. "I'll see you soon."

He Apparated back to the main gates at Hogwarts, ashamed of the relief he felt at the sight of them. 

* * *

The lights flickered for a moment after Remus Disapparated, and in that brief span of time Sirius Black had crossed the kitchen to the nearest wall. He slammed his fist into it just as the lights came back on.

The noise wasn't as loud as he would have thought it would be, and his ragged breathing was the only sound that filled the silence that followed.

Sirius hissed and cursed and quickly backed away from the wall, shaking his fist madly to dispell the pain

His hand felt as though it were on fire, and the pain seemed to have tweaked his mind to a razor's edge sharpness, hyperaware and hypersensitive. He could feel the pulse of his blood throbbing through every vessel, vein and capillary in his hand as it beat in tempo with the pain that was radiating up his arm.

Sirius closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and fought the rising urge to vomit. After a few moments, he had himself in check, and turned his attention back to his injury. He carefully raised his hand to his face and stared dumbly at it for a long moment, rotating it slowly. It took that long for his brain to connect the agony that had begun to radiate up his arm with the blood oozing down his palm. he moaned at how bad it looked.

It was a mess -- his knuckles were scraped raw, clotted with blood and plaster dust, and his fingers were an ugly red colour. He flexed them a few times, and despite the stabbing pains, the fact that he _could_ was assurance enough that nothing had been broken. 

Sirius licked at the wound to clean it, and slid the first three knuckles of his hand in his mouth. This was so much easier when he was Padfoot.

Suckling at the wound, he bent to survey the damage. There was now a vaguely fist-shaped crater in the wall that was quietly raining flakes of plaster on the floor. A few hairline cracks radiated from it, like a spider web. He was afraid to touch it, for fear of making it worse. Sirius had no idea Muggle homes were so fragile. But for all he'd done to his hand, he'd expected more. The wall seemed to have taken the brunt of the -- considerable -- damage.

He felt a brief spasm of guilt and swore softly. He hoped he would be long gone from here when the flat's owner discovered his little embellishment.

Well, a quick _Reparo_ should take care of most of it. At the very least, it would make the dent smaller.

He pulled his knuckles from his mouth with a wet 'pop'.

His wand was on the table, where he had left it. He picked it up-

\- And it felt as though someone had driven stiletto knives into every joint in his hand. His wand slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.

"Damn it!"

Fool that he was, of course he would punch his _wand hand_ in the wall. 

Sirius had never been particularly adept at wielding his wand with his right hand -- the last time he had tried, he had ended up setting Remus' hair on fire -- and he wasn't about to risk further damage to the wound by botching healing spells on it. And any attempts to even try to fix the wall would likely bring the building down around his ears.

It seemed he had no choice now but to follow Remus' edict -- he doubted he would be able to perform any kind of magic for at least the next two weeks.

Were it not for the pain and the potential of a crippling injury, Sirius was bloody well tempted to drive his fist into the wall a second time.

"Damn it to Hell," he muttered, "why am I so _stupid_?"

He walked back to the small table and slouched into one of the chairs. He hoped that when Remus had said he would return in 'a couple' of weeks, he had meant 'more than two' -- Sirius did not look forward to trying to walk on a damaged hand-turned-paw.

He fingered his knuckles, still slick with his saliva. At least the bleeding had stopped, and his hand did look much cleaner. But it still hurt like a bitch. 

With luck, the pain would fade soon. Being knee-deep in Muggle country, he doubted he'd be able to find a pain-killing potion anytime soon. And he wasn't about to try his luck with some barbaric Muggle alternative, either, considering how toxic some were.

There might at least be something in the flat that he could improvise into a primitive bandage. If he was going to let it heal the natural way, he'd need to keep his hand clean.

A quick search of the kitchen yielded nothing, save the location of the plates and the cutlery. And the 'fridge proved to have not been cleaned in many a month, evinced by its contents -- a bag of green sludge that might have once been a head of lettuce, and three dead oranges, one of which had deflated when he'd poked it

Across the hall from the kitchen, was a second bedroom, one that was much nicer -- and larger -- than the one he and Remus had Portkeyed into. Sirius knew where he was going to be sleeping during his stay. It had a fireplace for one, as well as some actual furniture, and shelves crammed full of Muggle books of all shapes, sizes, and provenances. The floor was wood -- great wide planks of oak -- as was much of the furniture. It was as if the owner was using this room to try to compensate for the depressing blandness of the rest of the flat.

There was also, as Remus had promised, a cupboard full of Muggle clothes -- which included some dress shirts that could be torn into strips to serve as makeshift bandages if nothing else could be found.

He lit a fire in the fireplace while he was in the room. A chill had already begun to settle in the flat, and he wanted to cut it off before it became intolerable. Sirius was pleased to discover that the wood basket and the matchbox had been spelled to discreetly refill themselves.

He left the fire to grow and continued his exploration of the flat. Down the hall from the second bedroom, and across from the first, he found the bathroom. It was clean and white and shining, and seemed even more so in comparison with just the hallway.

While he was quite pleased to see the large, long bathtub that dominated the room, the bathroom proved to be a great disappointment. The cupboards were completely bare, as if they had been picked clean, lacking in even basic amenities like soap and shampoo -- though there was a slightly used loofah on the edge of the tub, and a few towels were hung on a hook behind the door.

The bathroom, like the bedroom, was quite a bit nicer than the rest of the flat. It also didn't have any windows. Sirius wondered if that was intentional. Anyone trying to look in would see a typical Muggle flat, a bit worse for wear, but nothing out of the ordinary and would never guess that it was home to a wizard. And a wizard's home it was, Sirius thought with a grin. This room was nearly as big as the first bedroom and the kitchen put together, and the second bedroom was probably as large as the flat _should_ be.

But for all its interesting properties, the bathroom had nothing remotely resembling a proper bandage. Torn-up bits of shirt it was, then.

He washed his hand in the bathroom sink to make sure it was completely clean, and carefully wiped it dry on his robes as he walked down the hall. He fetched a sharp knife and his wand from the kitchen.

The bedroom had become pleasantly warm in his absence. Sirius settled into one of the two wing chairs facing the fire, spread one of the shirts out on his lap, and got to work. He made a few quick slashes at the shirt's hem and tore it easily into long strips, each about an inch wide. He wrapped one around his injured hand, and knotted it carefully, surveying his handiwork. Yes, it rather resembled something he'd expect to see on a mummy, but all in all it wasn't bad.

He left the scraps of fabric and the knife atop the small table flanked by the two chairs and sat back to watch the flames dance, revelling in the heat of the fire.

Sirius contemplated his injured hand in the firelight. It had been an incredibly stupid thing to do, but he had been so mad when Remus had decided to return to Hogwarts so abruptly.

He'd seen Remus angry before, of course, but never like that, never over something so- trivial. Like he'd stepped on a landmine, but he had no idea what had brought it on.

It made him feel more than a little ill. After Azkaban, the years just melted away. Yes, they had both changed, but that didn't seem to have mattered. They fell back into their old patterns and habits as easily as they'd fallen back into bed.

That had been after being separated for twelve years.

Sirius had only spent about four months behind that damned veil -- four months of his life lost even worse than his years in Azkaban. It should have been inconsequential, the merest drop in an ocean already vast and mighty. But. But of all the Dementors had taken from him, the most important -- his mind, his sanity, his memories -- had returned. Gradually, yes, but he was at last whole, if not hearty. And that which he could not regain, well, he took succour from the thought of vengeance, and on some days that was enough.

But this. Four months, gone. Stolen forever. And none to shoulder the blame. An accident, an accident.

And now Remus seemed unnerved by his presence, recoiled at his touch. So distant. So cold. His mind went back to the expression on Remus' face before he had left for Hogwarts -- unease melting into relief -- but Sirius pushed such thought aside as abruptly as they had emerged. He wasn't sure he much wanted to know the whys and wherefores behind his friend's behaviour.

And then there was Harry -- God -- Harry, who thought he was dead. That hurt the most.

Sirius laced his fingers together and rested his brow on their knobbly surface. Remus had been wrong. Harry's anger, when he found out, would be a terrible thing indeed. The boy had been betrayed and lied to again and again and again

There was nothing he could do to make it right, no way to fix this muddle his life had become.

His gaze travelled to a lump in his robes, something he'd put in his pocket earlier. A Portkey. His emergency escape.

He drew it out and stared at it in the firelight.

There was a small part of his mind that whispered to him to use it, to defy Remus' edicts. If he Apparated to Grimmauld Place, that would be a violation of his word, but using the Portkey -- that could be an accident-

Sirius stood abruptly and approached the fireplace. He set the Portkey on the mantle and put it from his mind.

Sirius settled back in front of the fire. He sighed and flexed his bruised fingers. Sitting here, bemoaning his fate, was pointless. There was nothing he could do to change any of this. He'd be better off trying to get some sleep. He rose carefully, supporting himself with his good hand, and crossed the room.

He pulled his robes off and tossed them to the floor before he got into bed, making a mental note to burn them in the morning. The fewer things connecting him to the Wizarding World, the better.

Sirius nestled into the linens, pulled the pillows down closer to his chest, frowning as he pressed his face into them. He shut his eyes. After a few moments, he opened them anew and sat up. This wasn't working. The light from the fire was bright enough to be visible through closed eyelids. He'd never be able to sleep like this.

Sirius padded across the room to the fireplace. He banked the fire, shut the grate and crawled back into bed. The room was now dark, but it didn't help a whit. He stared at the ceiling for a long while before he fell asleep.

  
  


He woke with the dawn. It was a habit long ingrained from Azkaban; those first few rays were always followed by a reprieve from the Dementors. His jailers had not been fond of the sun.

Sirius sat up, careful not to put any weight on his injured hand, which seemed to have survived quite nicely through the night. There were a few spots of blood that had soaked through the bandage, but no more than he had expected. It still hurt, yes, but it was more of an ache in his bones that yesterday's excruciating, throbbing agony. He was going to hold off changing the bandage for a few days, as he didn't have an unlimited number of shirts he could destroy. 

His stomach rumbled loudly. He'd last eaten before he had fallen through that damned veil, and he knew there was no food anywhere in the flat, unless the books were edible. The first order of the day, before even figuring out where he was, would be to find the grocer's Remus had mentioned and get his hands on something to eat.

His robes were where he had left them, balled up halfway between his bed and the fireplace. With the knife, he cut them into more manageable pieces, and crouched before the fireplace. 

The fire had gone out during the night, and like in all good wizard fireplaces, the ashes had been magicked away once they'd grown cold. He built another fire, layering the scraps of his robes between the wood. In a few hours, it would be gone and the only object marking him as a wizard would be his wand, which he intended to keep on his person at all times.

He dressed quickly -- he'd worn Muggle clothes before, so it wasn't difficult to figure out how to put them on. In the hall cupboard he found a coat and a scarf, which was enough to conceal his features without being too obvious about it.

Sirius drummed his fingers against the wall for a moment, trying to figure out what to do about the door without a wand to cast a Locking Charm. He cast his gaze about the wall in annoyance- and saw it.

There was a small table near the front door, and atop it was a key. Sirius palmed it and slid it into a pocket.

He let himself out and locked the door behind him.

  
  


A quick meal was easy enough to find, despite how early it was. It seemed some Muggles favoured the dawn as much as he did.

After only a few minutes of searching, Sirius found a fast food restaurant that proudly proclaimed in glowing neon that it was open twenty-four hours a day. He was pleased to see, also, that he would not be alone for his breakfast. A group of smelly, giggling teenagers were monopolising the tables by the windows. Sirius smiled at them, though he doubted they noticed. He remembered being that young, staying out until dawn, sometimes not even needing alcohol because the exhaustion could get you drunk enough without any help-

Sirius pushed that thought away.

From the tired-looking girl at the counter, he ordered the first special (whatever it might be) and, with a brilliant flash of inspiration, asked her if she knew where the nearest grocery store was. She laughed weakly at that, but drew him a little map on the back of a paper napkin.

Sirius pocketed it gratefully, and paid for his meal. He ate it quickly enough, out of both hunger and a need to taste it as little as possible. It was better than what he'd had at Azkaban, but only just.

But food was food, and he could get something better later.

He didn't linger once done. No matter that the Aurors had no idea where to look for him, but two years on the run left some habits ingrained deep.

The little map the girl had drawn for him proved to be accurate, but the store wasn't open, so Sirius continued walking. After about a half-hour, he saw something that made him laugh aloud.

A familiar red and blue sign of the London Underground.

So this _was_ London. Home. He wondered if Remus had known when they'd arrived, if maybe this wasn't some odd test on Dumbledore's part. It would be too easy now to just walk to Grimmauld Place... He couldn't. He could not. Because it was as Remus had said -- no one must know. His secrecy was his only weapon, and if he lost that, he had nothing. Not his word, nor his freedom -- nor their trust.

Sirius turned on his heel, and walked back down the street, swearing to himself to avoid the station, this area of the neighbourhood, so as not to tempt himself any further.

He returned to the flat, not yet ready to go to the grocer's, even when it opened. He wasn't feeling too hungry anymore.

  
  


Sirius spent the next few days exploring the neighbourhood, familiarizing himself as much with the darkened alleys as with the small stores and restaurants that dotted the streets -- yet never straying too far from the flat. He walked at odd hours, and never allowed himself to follow the same route twice, relying on his excellent sense of direction to keep himself oriented. He did not want to become too much of a familiar face in the area -- it was doubly dangerous considering his situation.

But he would stay out of the flat as much as possible, relishing in his new-found freedom. It was strange that he couldn't remember how wonderful it felt to have the sun on his face, the wind riffling his hair, how comfortable it was to be able to walk down a crowded street without having to worry about his safety.

  
  


Sirius stayed in on Bonfire Night. A chill had settled in the air during the past few days, and if anyone set off any interesting fireworks worth seeing, it would be just as easy to watch them from his flat rather than wandering the streets in this weather.

It always surprised him how reluctant his fellow wizards were to embrace this holiday, even though it was Muggle and it celebrated Muggle history. It was secular, too, which was more than one could say about Christmas or Easter -- and it involved explosions, which seemed to be the favoured hobby of half the Wizarding World.

But James -- rest his soul -- had been an exception to that, just like Sirius himself, and every fifth of November, they would drag Remus and Peter out to the lake after dinner, where the four of them would set off the latest models from Dr Filibuster's. They would rarely be able to light more than a few before Filch would run screaming out of the castle to threaten them with detentions.

Or at least that's what Sirius thought he said -- they'd never been able to hear him over the deafening explosions.

Those were some of the happiest memories of his life -- the sky lit up by sparkling bursts of colours, surrounded by the three people he'd loved the most.

The night of Halloween, 1981, and what had happened after, had put a sour twist on then, and in Azkaban he had not allowed himself to dwell on them overmuch. They were memories he wanted to keep.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, staring out the kitchen window, and swore to himself that when this was all over, he would restart the old tradition with Harry, give his godson a connection with his father, something more tangible than looks or Quidditch. James deserved at least that much.

A violent 'boom' rent the air, and Sirius started, jumping to his feet as he tried to figure out where the noise had come from-

It was soon followed by another, and then a third. Sirius relaxed, and allowed himself a laugh at his own folly. The noise was coming from outside. It was only fireworks. He could see them the window, being set off atop the roof of a building across the street. They were nowhere nearly as magnificent as the ones he'd set off when he'd been young, but their beauty was in their simplicity, single-coloured sunbursts that lit up the whole neighbourhood.

The people setting them off looked no older than he'd been, and their screams of delight were barely audible over the sound of the explosions.

Barely more than children.

It could have been him across there, could have even been Harry and his friends.

Sirius felt something tighten in his chest, and turned away from the window. But he could still hear the fireworks, see their colours splashed on the far wall.

It was all too much for him.

They would understand. They had to.

Sirius stormed out of the kitchen, but after only a step into the hall, he froze.

He was stronger than this.

He turned on his heel and walked to the bathroom; it had no windows and there he could barely hear the explosions.

He sat with his back to the door until the night went silent.

Sirius slept, fitfully, in the other bedroom that night.

  
  


When he dressed the next morning in the main bedroom, he averted his gaze from the mantle above the fireplace, from what he knew was there.

But as he shrugged on his shirt, he turned, almost involuntarily-

It was a little envelope. It looked so useless.

And as if he were in a dream, Sirius watched himself walk across the room at a slow, even pace and pick the Portkey up off the mantle-piece as if it were no more than any other trinket.

He brought it with him to the kitchen and set it on the table. He sat down and picked it up again.

He looked at it for a long moment as he passed it from hand to hand. He wondered, but... No. No.

Emergencies, Remus had said. Only emergencies.

Sirius set it down with a thud and pushed himself to his feet. He couldn't stay here, not with that hanging over his head.

He left the flat without even bothering with breakfast.

  
  


He walked the streets, lost in thought.

He couldn't, he couldn't. He knew this, but it was as if he'd lost all capacity for logical thought. It was as if he were trying to put out a house fire with a thimble-full of water.

Dusk had barely fallen that evening when he began to make his way back to the flat.

  
  


He sat at the small table in the kitchen and stared at the Portkey in its envelope. He touched it at times, poking out its shape through the heavy paper, as if doing so would allow him to divine where it would take him.

From what Remus had said, he could surmise that it only worked in one direction -- that no matter how many times he touched it (and only him; he suspected that clever touch was Dumbledore's) it would always take him to the same place.

He took another sip of his -- admittedly not awful -- Muggle beer, and fingered the envelope, tracing the object's outline. It was a key, large and heavy and old-fashioned. A key as Portkey. _Someone_ had a clever sense of humour, Sirius thought with a wry smile.

Somewhere safe, Remus had said. Probably Grimmauld Place.

Harry would not be there, Sirius knew. It was the middle of November, and his godson was still in school. Nor would Remus, as his teaching would keep him at Hogwarts same as Harry. But Grimmauld Place was Headquarters of the Order, and there might be _someone_ there he knew -- Old Dung, Tonks, Kingsley (who Sirius still had not yet properly thanked for retrieving his wand from the Aurors' evidence vaults).

He picked the envelope up, tested its weight, and then set it back on the table. It would be beyond foolish. It would be _insane_ to risk his freedom for something so stupid, so small.

Sirius pushed himself out of his chair, crossed the room, and leaned out the kitchen's smaller window, beer bottle still in hand.

He kept his gaze fixed on the street below, and sipped his beer slowly, watching the Muggle cars as they sped by. He tracked the progress of some pedestrians, and lifted his bottle in salute to the brave soul who crossed the street in the middle of the block and not at one of the intersections. That took courage, that did, especially considering how dangerous it was to tempt fate like that. Those cars were huge -- not to mention fast.

He knocked back the last of his beer, and pulled himself inside.

He needed to go for a walk, clear his head.

Sirius set the bottle on the counter, and left the Portkey where it was.

The coat he had tossed over the kitchen's other chair and the key -- to the front door -- was still in one of its pockets. He pulled it on as he left the room. Sirius was out of the building and down on the streets in record time. He headed north.

The cool night air bit at his exposed flesh, and with every exhalation, his warm breath wreathed his face. He strode through the city, his mind still fixed on a small envelope left atop a table.

After nearly twenty minutes of this, he came to an abrupt halt. He closed his eyes and tried to still his ragged breathing, his mad pounding heart. It worked, somewhat.

Sirius opened his eyes, looked around. Too long standing here, and someone would grow suspicious.

The maw of an alley gaped only a few feet ahead, and with several long strides, he had turned into it. Sirius kept walking until he was fully obscured by the ink-black shadows.

He forced his mind back to the kitchen -- to the peeling paint, to the linoleum floor, to the dent in the wall, to the awful smell that lingered no matter how long he had the windows open, to the old key in an envelope atop the chipped table- 

He thought _himself_ there.

With a 'crack', Sirius Disapparated from the alley and Apparated in the kitchen, barely a foot from the table and within arm's reach of the Portkey.

"I can do this," he said, and snatched up the envelope.

Sirius opened it easily and plunged his hand inside.

He had barely time to register the sensation of his fingers brushing against the cool metal of the key when he felt himself gripped by the Portkey's magic.

At first he thought it hadn't worked.

But it had. Sirius blinked and looked around. The transit had simply been so brief that he'd barely noticed it.

He hadn't been taken to Grimmauld Place at all.

The Portkey was spelled to return him to the flat's first bedroom, where he and Remus had first arrived all those days ago.

Sirius drew his hand from the envelope and ran his thumb over the lumpen shape under the Manila paper. "Damn it," he whispered, keeping his voice so low he could not hear it shake. "Damn it all." 


	2. blue moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found on an old hard drive, posted for posterity.

There were only ten days left in the month of July, and Harry still hadn't received his OWL results. He was beginning to feel a bit impatient, not to mention annoyed.

He now knew what his uncle felt like while waiting for a contract to be signed. Not that he would ever tell this to Uncle Vernon. His relatives' desire to have as little to do with Harry as possible was rivalled only by Harry's desire to have nothing to do with them.

But he had also become accustomed to the wait, and had half-convinced himself that he would never see these mythical OWL marks. So it was with no great surprise (but a little disappointment) that he came down to breakfast that morning to discover that while post had come, it was only just another letter from Professor Lupin.

"Is this the only-"

"Yes, it's all the post that's come for you," Aunt Petunia snapped at him from the sink, where she had been doing the washing-up. "No, we haven't chased away another owl, and, yes, we kept the window open all night, even with all the recent burglaries."

"I was just asking," Harry muttered. Yes, he had asked her the same question every morning since returning from Hogwarts, but it was no reason for her to get shirty with him. Honestly, this was _important_.

He picked up the letter and stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Is there any breakfast left?" he asked, eyeing the bare table.

Aunt Petunia's head jerked around and she glared at him in a way that forcibly reminded Harry of Professor Snape. This in turn conjured in his mind the image of Snape wearing Aunt Petunia's frilly pink apron over his usual black robes. Harry faked a coughing it to hide his laughter.

"If you'd gotten up at a proper time, instead of sleeping in well past any reasonable hour, we wouldn't have this conversation _every morning_.

"There's bread in the box, and eggs and bacon in the fridge. I assume you know how to use the cooker and the toaster.

"And clean up after yourself when you're done," Aunt Petunia added. "You left the kitchen in a right mess yesterday." She pulled the plug from the sink and wiped her hands on a dishtowel before storming out of the room.

Harry only shrugged at her retreating back. Whatever.

He made himself some toast and stacked it on a plate to carry it back to his room so he could eat it and read his letter in peace. Even though it was just from Lupin didn't mean he wanted Dudley to come in and try to read it over his shoulder.

He shut the door behind him, and slid home the deadbolt that he had had Uncle Vernon put in for him earlier in the summer. He deserved as much privacy from the Dursleys as they'd had from him over the years.

Harry sat down at his desk, and unfolded the letter, scowling at the unfamiliar crest that had been stamped into the wax seal. The plate of toast was set atop his Potions books -- he wasn't feeling very hungry yet.

 _Dear Harry,_ the letter read.

_I'm glad that the Dursleys are treating you well. (Although, I'm still unsure how 'being ignored' can be considered a good thing.)_

Harry rolled his eyes. Lupin didn't understand anything.

_I've spoken with Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall as you asked, and they both agreed that now is still too soon. The magic has to be allowed time to do its work, and for something this, well, primitive that can sometimes be a fair bit of time. I know you're probably thoroughly sick of hearing this now, Harry, but you need to be patient._

_But, going by what they said, it shouldn't take more than another week and a half. Which would mean that we'll be bringing you to Grimmauld Place just in time for you to celebrate your birthday with your friends._

_I bet that makes up for your OWLS being late._

Harry rolled his eyes again.

_(Though they're always late. They were late when I was a student, they were late when Molly and Arthur Weasley were students, and they were late even when Alastor Moody attended Hogwarts. It seems the Ministry hurries up for no student.)_

_When I was your age, and waiting for my own results-_

Harry gave up at that point, and quickly skimmed through the rest of the letter, looking for anything about himself or the Order. But there was nothing save Lupin's vague ramblings about his childhood and little stories about other members of the Order. Harry wondered why Lupin assumed that he would _care_ about what Tonks broke this week, or Fletcher's latest brush with the Muggle police.

Harry tossed the letter aside in disgust. He'd reply in a day or two, write something just as pointless. He doubted Lupin read his letters, either.

He eyed the toast, but the thought of food made him ill.

And then there were his books. He knew he should take advantage of the fact that he (for once) didn't have homework over the summer holidays to catch up on his classes, so that when term began he wasn't completely lost, but studying made him feel worse than the thought of food.

 _And_ he should probably clean his broom. He hadn't touched it in months, not since... not since... He pushed that thought away, and all other thought connected to it. Well, when term started, Harry knew he'd be expected to rejoin the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but he really couldn't muster the energy to much care. Anyway, he had plenty to do it, if he wanted to.

Harry sat back in his chair and stared out the window. It was nearly noon, and Privet Drive would soon be bustling with activity, if only until around two. He wondered if he'd be able to pick out whoever had been assigned bodyguard duty this week. He hoped that they'd be less conspicuous than Fletcher had been with that dress.

He rubbed absently at his scar. It wasn't that it hurt -- this was rather a not-hurting. Like an ice-cream headache, except without the cold. Or the pain.

A car outside backfired, and Harry nearly jumped from his seat.

 

He dreamt that night.

In the morning, when he woke, all he remembered was that he had waded through a river of blood, clutching snakes in each fist.

He hoped that it had only been a dream.

 

That was Monday.

All week, the strange not-ness feeling in his scar grew more frequent. He mentioned it in his letter to Lupin on Wednesday, because he knew it might be important. He didn't say anything about the dreams.

Friday morning, he woke to the sounds of Aunt Petunia pounding at his door. Harry dressed quickly and flung the door open. Aunt petunia glared at him, two points of colour burning high on her cheeks.

"There is an owl in the kitchen," she said, enunciating in that careful way that he knew meant that she was very angry. "It has a package. I assume it is for you, because it would not relinquish it to one of us. And it refuses to leave.

"Do. Something."

Harry followed her as she stormed down the stairs.

He found the owl perched atop the refrigerator, glaring beadily at Uncle Vernon and Dudley, who were watching it from the kitchen doorway.

He took the box from the owl, fed it some of the bacon from the pan on the stove, and waved it out the door.

There was a letter with the package. Harry opened it first. It had been sealed with the same unfamiliar crest as Professor Lupin's last letter. But this time the handwriting wasn't Lupin's. It was McGonagall's.

_Potter,_

_This is a Portkey. It will bring you to 12 Grimmauld Place. You are to gather your personal effects, and take it immediately. You will not be returning to your family until next summer, so it is important that you bring everything you need._

_Tell your family that you are leaving, but do not tell them to where. It is vital to their safety that they do not know._

_You must do this with all due haste, Potter. Time is of the essence._

Harry stared at the letter, and then re-read it a second time, trying to ignore his heart's mad pounding in his chest. It was real. It had to be. The only people who knew the location of the Order's Headquarters were members of the Order, and the only person who could tell you if you didn't know was Dumbledore. (Harry had tested it once, during his school year, with Neville Longbottom. It had felt like he was trying to talk through a ball gag. When he'd written it down, all Neville had seen was a splotch of ink.)

He wiped his hands on his jeans and looked up to meet the Dursleys' faces. "I have to go now," he heard himself say. "Right now. It's very important. I have to get my things."

"Has there-" Aunt Petunia began.

"I won't be coming back 'til next July," Harry told her.

He walked back up to his room, feeling as though he were in a daze. The urgency of McGonagall's tone worried him. And why was it she had written him, and not Lupin?

He jammed the piece of parchment into his back pocket, set the box carefully on his duvet, and then began to haphazardly pile his things into his trunk. Clothes, books, robes, his broom, his Cloak... He grabbed Hedwig's stand from its stand and set it on the floor. She hadn't returned from her morning hunt, but she was clever, she knew the way to Grimmauld Place.

A quick inspection of his room revealed that he'd forgotten nothing.

Harry carefully opened the box and dumped its contents on his bed. What fell out was an old bronze bell, nestled in crackling newspaper. He fingered his wand for a moment, stuck the cage in the open trunk, grabbed its handle with one hand and with the other he picked up the Portkey.

He kept his eyes clamped shut as the magic dragged him to London.

Harry collapsed to the floor when it released him. He opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by familiar and unfamiliar faces, all of whom seemed to be watching him with wary apprehension in their eyes, their wands pointed directly at him.

"Potter!" It was Mad-Eye Moody's voice, and the man himself was pushing his way through the wall of people surrounding Harry. "Is that you, boy?"

Harry felt himself grow angry, but he kept it in check. He knew that none of these people would be receptive to sarcasm of any kind. "Of course it's me-"

There was a snort from a dark corner of the room. Harry recognised it too well. "I'm afraid _I_ shall be the judge of that, Potter," Snape murmured, his voice somehow managing to carry across the crowded room.

The mob surrounding Harry parted, and Snape advanced, malicious delight dancing in his dark eyes. Harry quickly looked away, fixing his gaze on some strange wizard's boots.

Snape clicked his tongue. "Now, Potter. You can make this easy for yourself, or you can make it very, very difficult. The choice is yours."

Harry took a long time bringing his eyes back level with Snape's. It took all the self-control he had not to punch that smug bastard's face. Snape scowled at him for a long moment before he looked away and nodded at someone behind Harry. "This is indeed Potter."

The crowd stood down, and began to disperse. Snape shot him one last nasty glare before swooping out of the room. Harry got unsteadily to his feet. This wasn't a room he recognised, but in all the times he'd been at Grimmauld Place, exploration had been the last thing on his mind. It was a large room, with high ceilings and no windows. The only furniture was a few old-fashioned chairs pushed up against the wall near the door.

Harry gave his trunk and experimental tug as he made to follow the people filling out of the room. It didn't move an inch.

"Need help with that, Potter?" Moody said as he came up behind Harry.

Harry turned and gave him a weak smile. "Yeah. I didn't know my things were this heavy."

Moody drew out his wand and made a complicated gesture. They followed the floating trunk out of the room.

"What's going on?"

Moody shook his head. "Not a clue. I was called in last night, got told something big was going on. Whatever it is, it has McGonagall good and worried. I haven't seen this many people here in months."

"Hmph."

"There's gonna be a briefing in a few hours, once Dumbledore arrives. That should give us some answers."

"You mean you'll get answers. I'm not going to be told anything."

Moody's expression grew grim. "I don't think they're going to be keeping you in the dark on this, Potter, not if I can help it." He brought the trunk to a halt and pushed a door open. "You slept here last time?"

Harry looked in the darkened room and saw two beds, and the familiar frame of Phineas Nigellus' empty portrait. "Yeah. This is it."

Moody guided the trunk in and set it at the foot of one of the beds. He patted Harry on the shoulder. "Make yourself at home, Potter. I need to take care of some things. You going to be okay?"

Harry nodded mutely in reply.

After Moody left, Harry sat down heavily upon the bed. He eyed his trunk, knowing that he should make a start on unpacking his things, especially since he was going to be staying here until term began, but... 

He laid himself down on the bed, and stared at the peeling black paint on the ceiling. He sighed and tried to will himself back to sleep.

Harry gave up after a few minutes, and rolled over to face Phineas' empty frame. " _What_ is going on?" he asked it.

No answer.

 

A half-hour later, there was a gentle knock at the door. Harry looked up as Professor Lupin poked his head in. "I'd just heard you'd arrived, Harry. Mind if I come in?"

Harry shook his head, and pushed himself up to a sitting position. Lupin sat down on the other bed, a faint smile on his face as he watched Harry. He was wearing Muggle clothes instead of robes, and looked much less shabby than the last time Harry had seen him. It made Harry wonder.

"You've probably already guessed that you're here because of the odd sensations you've been having in you scar."

That explained some things. "Yeah, but it isn't hurting. What was the point of bringing me here?"

"We suspect that Voldemort is attempting to modify the link that exists between the two of you-"

"What, like last-"

But Lupin continued on as if he hadn't heard Harry. "Not destroy it, mind you, that's beyond even him, but simply alter it on some basic level to better suit his purpose. That's why Minerva had you brought here. You'd be safer here than with the Muggles if Voldemort were to try something."

"Why does everyone keep acting like Professor McGonagall is in charge? I thought Dumbledore was the head of the order."

Lupin pursed his lips as he seemed to consider that. "He is. But he's been very busy recently, working in concert with the Ministry. And Minerva McGonagall is, in all things, his number two. So she heads the order while he's otherwise occupied.

"But he's travelling from Hogwarts right now to deal with this in person."

"I know. Moody told me."

"Mm." Lupin nodded slowly.

"And why is _Snape_ here?"

Lupin sighed and shook his head, a sympathetic look in his pale brown eyes. "I have a few guesses, but nothing definite. As far as I know, he had planned to spend the summer in Cornwall, but I'm sure Minerva had her reasons for calling him back."

"Hmph." But there was something in the way that Lupin said it that made Harry think he wasn't quite telling the truth.

"Have you had breakfast yet? I imagine this must have been an early morning for you-"

"I don't like to eat food this early. Makes me feel sluggish."

Lupin gave a good-natured shrug. "Oh, I understand. But I'm sure we could find some toast and juice if you get peckish. I wouldn't mind the company."

"... Okay."

"And the kitchen should be empty -- Severus has been using it to brew the Wolfsbane Potion, and, well, that's a smell that tends to linger. It's mostly gone by now, but I don't think anyone is brave enough to check."

"That bad?"

Lupin rolled his eyes. "Worse. I swear I could feel my nostril hairs dissolving. I really have no idea how Severus puts up with it."

Harry bit back the first reply that came to mind. It would do no good to antagonise Lupin on the first day.

 

The smell wasn't as bad as Harry had expected, and after a few minutes he stopped noticing it, so long as he didn't take any deep breaths.

Watching Lupin eat was _very_ boring. And not even having food in his mouth made the man stop talking.

Harry managed to escape after about a half-hour by pleading exhaustion, and walked back up to his room. He ignored the people he passed in the halls, especially the ones who greeted him by name -- he didn't bloody well know them, what gave them the right to talk to him like that?

He heard a rustle of feathers as he shut the door behind himself, and looked up. It was only Hedwig, perched atop the wardrobe. She must have returned while he was having breakfast with Lupin.

Harry took her cage from his trunk and set it on the desk nearer to the window. Something on the dark wood surface caught his eye. Someone had carved their initials into the desk.

He fingered the letters for a moment, briefly wondering who R.V.O.B. had been. He wondered if they had-

Harry dropped his hand to his side. He sat down heavily on the nearest bed and buried his face in the pillow.

 

A sharp knock at the door woke him from his nap. Harry sat up, and barely had time to wipe the saliva from his mouth and push his glasses up his nose when a hatchet-faced young witch shoved the door open and snarled at him to follow. He got up reluctantly and padded after her down the corridor and up two flights of stairs to a door he didn't recognise.

The witch pushed it open. "They're waiting for you," she said.

Harry walked in and nearly jumped when he heard the door click shut behind him.

The room was dominated by a long, narrow table. The only light came from the silver candelabras and wall sconces.

And sitting at the head of the table was Albus Dumbledore. At his right was Professor McGonagall. Scattered around the table were nearly a dozen people Harry didn't know (save Professor Lupin), and lurking in the shadows behind Dumbledore was none other than Snape.

McGonagall nodded at the strangers. "That will be all, thank you." They rose quietly and left. The room suddenly seemed larger, the ceiling higher, the shadows deeper.

Dumbledore looked up and smiled. "Ah, Harry," he said, his eyes twinkling, "do sit down!"

The closest empty chair was right beside McGonagall. Harry sat down and tried not to meet anyone's eyes. He stared at the heavily varnished surface of the table and wondered if R.V.O.B. had tried to carve his initials into this, too.

"Harry." Dumbledore. "Professor Lupin has informed me that he has told you one of the reasons why we have brought you here."

Harry mumbled a reply.

"And would I be correct in assuming, from what you've written in your letters, that you have felt no pain in your scar since the end of term?"

"Yeah." Harry shifted in his seat. "Guess that means Voldemort's been keeping his ugly head down."

There was a bark of laughter from across the table. Harry's head shot up.

And his surprise twisted to disgust when he met Snape's eyes. Snape, palms flat on the table, was leaning down to glare at Harry, contempt writ plain across his gaunt face.

"There have been fifteen known attacks by the Dark Lord's forces in the past three weeks, Potter," Snape sneered. "By what twisted definition can that be considered 'keeping his head down'?"

"That's impossible," Harry retorted, rubbing a finger up and down his scar. "I would've felt... something."

"And there is the crux of the matter," Dumbledore continued. "We believe that his attempt to alter the bond between the two of you will result in him being fully aware of your actions, and you being ignorant of is."

"So when my scar goes all- all empty-feeling, that means-"

"That means, Potter, that he is simply overtly blocking you from being consciously aware of his thoughts." McGonagall shrugged. "The empty feeling you describe is likely your mind's reaction to the absence of You-Know-Who's thoughts. You have lived with them so long that you have- grown used to them."

Harry felt sick at that. He wetted his lips. "But- but that's a good thing, isn't it? I mean, I don't know about any of you, but I don't _want_ to have his thoughts in my head."

"Ah, Harry, but you see, neither does he."

"... What?"

Dumbledore smiled fondly. "Can you imagine how frustrating it must have been for him to know that no matter what he was planning, _you_ would always be able to look over his, ah, shoulder. The man cannot abide turncoats, and yet his own mind was working against him."

"We suspect," Lupin interrupted," that this is why he kept his activities last year to a minimum. But now that he no longer has that constraining him..." He shook his head. "Well, you heard what Severus said."

"And, knowing that he does not have to contend with his own mind's interference, the dark Lord will be able to observe your thoughts without, ah..." Snape waved his hand vaguely. "What was that Muggle term that Weasley used?"

"Feedback loop," Lupin offered.

"Yes. It shall make it much easier for him to know exactly what you are doing, what you are thinking..."

Harry closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see Snape's horrible leer. "So... so what does this mean?"

"A great many things which are beyond your comprehension-"

" _Most_ of which are still speculation, Potter," McGonagall interrupted. "We do not believe he has yet reached the point where he is capable of doing this. At the moment, when the link between the two of you is blocked, it is blocked both ways."

Harry let out a weak laugh in relief. "I'm safe? Is that what you're saying?"

"Not quite, Potter. Not yet. Just because You-Know-Who has not yet succeeded in his experiment does not mean that he never will."

"So..."

Dumbledore looked apologetic. "This means, Harry, that you will resume your Occlumency lessons as soon as possible."

"Oh."

"With Professor Snape."

"... You're joking." Except, from the looks on their faces, they weren't. And Snape himself had his arms tightly crossed over his chest, his head turned to look at something on the far wall, an expression of great disgust on his face. "Why... Why can't _you_ teach me, Professor Dumbledore?"

"Because," Snape said, in a low, dangerous tone, his gaze still averted from Harry's, "it is the nature of Occlumency that precludes one from beginning with one teacher and ending with another. It has- unpleasant complications."

From the smug look on Snape's face, Harry knew that Snape was contemplating Harry suffering them at that very moment.

Dumbledore was nodding. "Professor Snape is exactly right, Harry. I would teach you myself if I could, but now it would be impossible."

"But... but what if I refused? What if I don't want to have lessons with-"

"Then our response would be simple, Potter," Snape said, as he turned and advanced on Harry. "You will be Obliviated of all you know of the Order's activities -- _all_ , Potter. I believe that will go back quite a few years. And then you will be kept somewhere secure, where you will be unable to interact with anyone save, _perhaps_ , house-elves, to thwart the Dark Lord's attempts to gather any intelligence through you or, ah, possess you again."

Harry's nausea rose again. But Snape didn't stop. His smirk grew wider as he continued.

"Unfortunately, this would somewhat interfere with our plans for the future. So you see, Potter, you don't have a choice in the matter. None of us do."

"Severus, that's enough," McGonagall said quietly.

Snape's upper lip twitched into a sneer.

"Will you be able to begin tomorrow?" Dumbledore asked.

Snape nodded. "Of course."

"Now that that's settled," Dumbledore said, pushing himself to his feet. "Severus, Remus, Harry. Thank you." He turned to McGonagall. "Minerva? A word?"

She smiled obligingly and followed him out.

Lupin stood, and Harry followed suit.

"Harry. I know this is probably not how you were planning on spending your summer holidays-"

"It's no worse than the Dursleys."

"But I thought you'd want to know that I'll be staying here too, to make sure things don't get out of hand."

Snape made a faint scoffing noise.

Harry ignored him. "But- we're going to be doing it here? I thought- all these people..."

Lupin was shaking his head. "This might be the Order's Headquarters, but that doesn't mean that it gets used very often Today was very much an exception. Our organisation is usually much more- distributed. We don't want too many of our agents to know each other, so that if any of them are compromised, the whole Order doesn't come crashing down around our ears."

Harry looked over at Snape. "Sort of like the Death Eaters, isn't that right?"

Snape ignored the bait and glared at Lupin. "If you are done here, I believe now would be a good time for another dose of the Wolfsbane Potion."

"Of course, Severus, I'm sorry." Lupin smiled at Harry. "I'm afraid I have to go now, Harry, but I'll see you later."

Snape stalked out of the room, and Lupin followed him at a more leisurely pace.

Harry was alone now. But he didn't want to go back to his room, and he had less inclination to wander around the house, on the oft chance that he might run into someone he knew. Especially not Snape and Lupin. He wondered what _that_ had been about. It felt like he'd walked in on the third reel of a film.

Harry slouched back down at the table. He propped his elbows up on its gleaming surface, cradled his chin in his hands and scowled.

God. He was _not_ looking forward to more Occlumency lessons with Snape. They hadn't done any good the first time, why did Dumbledore think that they might work now?

 

The lessons did not start well.

"Give me your wand, Potter."

Harry spoke through clenched teeth. "No."

"Harry..." Lupin. He sounded irritated. "Please. You don't even have to give it to Severus. Give it to me. I'll keep it-"

"No. Not unless you tell me why."

Lupin shook his head and looked over at the far recesses of the room, where Snape, nearly hidden by the shadows, leant against a wall. The lessons were being held in the same room that Harry had arrived it for the same reason it was normally used by the Order's agents as an Apparition site inside Grimmauld Place. It was the largest room in the house and, save for a few chairs, nearly bare of all furniture.

Snape stepped forward, the flickering candlelight from the chandelier making his sneer seem even more sinister. Like Lupin, he was wearing Muggle clothes, and like Lupin, he seemed as much at ease in trousers as he did robes. Harry found it very disconcerting. He was used to having the Muggle world and the Wizarding world be separate, but to see them mixed like this...

"You are not to use your wand during the lessons, Potter, because it will merely serve as a crutch. Occlumency is a discipline of the _mind_ , and cannot be mastered with any-"

"Foolish wand-waving?"

Snape glared at him.

Lupin was shaking his head. "Harry..."

"I don't think so. How'm I supposed to defend myself against _him_?" Harry retorted, jerking a thumb at Snape.

"That's exactly Severus' point, Harry. You're supposed to learn how to defend yourself without a wand-"

"There is another consideration," Snape said. "How old are you, Potter?"

What? "Sixteen." And because he knew Snape knew, he added, "this Wednesday."

Snape was nodding. "Not seventeen, then. You are still bound by the Ministry's decrees on under-age wizardry. And while the Ministry is now willing to turn a blind eye to many of the Order's activities-"

"I thought they didn't know about-"

"They don't," was Lupin's blunt response.

Snape continued as if nothing had been said. "Such a flagrant violation of their most strictly upheld laws will not be overlooked, and you will be in far more trouble than you already are."

"We."

"I beg your pardon?"

" _We'll_ be in trouble. I doubt your Death Eater friends would be too happy to find out that you've been working for Dumbledore all these years."

But Snape was smiling. It was a nasty, unpleasant expression that nearly made Harry flinch at its malevolence. "Potter, Potter, Potter... How little you understand. I doubt you have the mental capacity to even begin to grasp the complexities of my situation-"

Lupin sighed, interrupting Snape. "Harry. Just give me the wand. I'll put it on the chair next to me so you can see it and I'll give it back to you when the lesson is over."

"What if I say no?"

"Then there will be no lesson," Snape said. "A simple choice, Potter."

"Hmph." Harry reluctantly handed his wand over to Lupin, who smiled at him and set on one of the chairs.

Things went downhill from there.

Snape slid into Harry's mind like a knife through water. And without his wand, Harry was unable to prevent Snape from riffling through his memories, could do nothing but watch as fragments of his life flickered by. Every row he'd ever had with his friends, every injustice done to him by the Dursleys, by Snape, by anyone -- all of it laid bare.

The barrage of images did not stop until Snape broke the spell.

Harry collapsed to the floor, shaking with rage and humiliation. There was only one thing that could have made this worse, but Lupin had thankfully not moved from his side of the room. And there was no sympathy in Lupin's eyes, only a guarded expression as he watched Harry and Snape.

"You pathetic child," Snape spat.

Harry bunched his hands at his sides, and only the pain kept him from leaping across the room for his wand.

"You offered me no resistance. None! Is your head so full of your own egotism and arrogance that you are unable to retain anything else? Are you incapable of-"

"Severus." Harry had never heard Lupin's voice that cold, that hard. "He is out of practice. That's all. Isn't that right, Harry?"

Harry nodded quickly. Lupin's anger was not pleasant to see, and not something he wanted to have directed at himself.

Snape clenched his jaw, flared his nostrils, and for a moment looked like he would hit Lupin. But it passed as Snape took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a few heartbeats, and then focused his gaze back upon Harry.

"Very well then," he said, his voice tight. "Let us try this again. And we shall see if you are able to return to your former, ah, strength."

Harry stood, and, defiance pounding through his veins, met Snape's eyes.

The lessons continued all day until dinner, only pausing at noon for a quick lunch.

Snape, thankfully, did not eat with them. It was bad enough Harry had to eat with Lupin -- Snape there would have made things unbearable.

Because Harry had not been able to prove Snape wrong. After nearly eight hours of having Snape invade his mind again and again and again, Harry had been unable to put up any sort of resistance, which did nothing but make Snape even angrier.

At dinner, Harry sat with Lupin at the kitchen table and nursed a glass of water -- he wasn't able to keep down anything more substantial. Lupin watched him as he ate, an odd look in his eyes.

"Harry."

"What?"

"I don’t appreciate being forced to lie to my colleagues. I can understand if you weren't able to work on your Occlumency lessons while at school, considering all that you were going through at the time, but you have no excuse-"

Harry slammed his fist against the table. "I _did_ make an effort! It's not my fault if Snape-"

"No, you didn't, Harry. And Severus had nothing to do with this." Lupin paused for a moment, and seemed to consider something. "If you haven't mastered at least the basics of Occlumency by the end of the summer, I am afraid we will have to take rather drastic measures."

"It'd be easier if it were Dumbledore and not Snape-"

"The Headmaster is very busy, Harry, not to mention that Severus is right about what happen when one changes teachers half-way through."

"Hmph. Well, at least Dumbledore is forcing him to do this, too."

Lupin was shaking his head. "The funny thing is, Harry, Severus actually volunteered to give up his summer to ensure that you learn Occlumency. Dumbledore didn't force him to do anything-"

"What? Why?"

Lupin shrugged. "You'll have to ask him," he said, pushing himself to his feet.

After Lupin had left the room, Harry sat alone, drumming his fingers on the table. Bloody Snape. Bloody Lupin. He was tempted to botch his lessons on purpose, just to spite them. But he suspected that those 'drastic measures' that Lupin had mentioned would be far worse than what Snape had goaded him with.

 

Something had been nagging at him all day, just at the edge of his thoughts, and it was only when he was halfway up to his room that Harry realised what it was.

Grimmauld Place was silent.

Not once since he had arrived the day before had he heard either Kreacher's mutterings or Mrs Black's screaming portrait.

And, to think of it, nor once had he seen them.

He wondered idly if they were still alive.

Not that he much cared. They deserved what they'd got.

 

Midnight had come and gone when Harry finally felt his appetite return, with surprising force.

He slipped out of bed, shrugged on his Invisibility Cloak, and padded silently down the stairs. Some habits died hard, and he doubted that Snape or Lupin would be too thrilled to find him out and about at all hours.

When he reached the foot of the stairs, Harry could hear voices coming from the kitchen. He approached slowly, relying on the shadows around the open door to hide what the Cloak could not. He pressed his back against the wall, barely inches from the door.

Harry held his breath and listened.

Dumbledore was speaking. "What can you tell us, Severus?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. He does not trust me. He does not trust any of us." This was followed by a low, bitter laugh. "But I do suspect that it will be in no more than a week, two at most if things do not go as planned."

"Very good." Dumbledore sighed. "Fate has presented us with a rare opportunity, my boy, one we _must_ seize. There is something I need you to do for me."

"Of course, Headmaster."

"Severus. You must ensure that Augustus Rookwood _does not_ survive your colleagues' liberation."

Snape was silent for a long moment. Harry's mind raced. Rookwood. He knew that name. Rookwood was in Azkaban. They were talking about liberating Azkaban. Harry balled his fists at his sides.

"I'll see to it," Snape finally said. "Might I ask-"

Dumbledore's voice was harsh. "No, Severus, no, you may not. Do not press this with me."

"... Yes, Headmaster."

"Now. Tell me, how does young Harry fare?"

Snape made a scoffing noise. "It's only been a day. And the boy seems to have forgotten everything I tried to teach him. I do not have high hopes for success."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Oh, but I have faith in you, my boy. You yourself learnt the basics of Occlumency in only a few short weeks."

"But that was _me_ , headmaster. I had the benefit of desperation. Nothing motivates that boy."

"I'm sure you'll find a way. Impress upon young Harry how important it is that he learn, how vital _he_ is to the cause."

There was another long silence, and when Snape spoke again, his voice was very tight. "If that is all, Headmaster? I have had a _very_ long, very trying day."

"Of course, Severus. I shan't keep you any longer."

"I'll see you to the door, then."

Harry barely had time to slip deeper into the shadows as they walked out. Dumbledore's flamboyant purple robes seemed to fairly glow in the gloom, though Snape, who was wearing a loose black cloak over the same Muggle clothes he had worn earlier, was nearly as invisible as Harry, his pale face appearing to float, disembodied, in the shadows.

Once they had gone up the stairs, Harry counted to thirty before entering the kitchen. He'd only taken a few steps past the threshold when he froze, stiff with shock.

Resting on the table was the familiar silver-white mask of a Death eater. Harry felt his mouth go dry as he stared and stared.

His head shot up suddenly. He could hear foot falls in the hallway. Someone was coming down the stairs.

Harry jumped into a corner, and stood, not moving, not breathing, as he watched Snape swoop into the room, seize the mask, swoop out- And freeze.

Harry didn't move, and nor did Snape. He seemed to be listening for something.

And then Snape shook his head and left the room.

Harry collapsed to the floor, taking deep whooping breaths.

His hands were shaking as he made himself something to eat, and they still shook as he walked back to his room, his pulse throbbing madly in his ears.

 

The next day, Harry spent much of the lessons, when not in the grips of Snape's Legilimency, watching Snape himself, looking for a sign in those dark eyes, looking for any indication of... well, Harry didn't know what treasonous thought might look like, as seen through someone's eyes.

Snape was a Death Eater again, had returned to Voldemort's side, this Harry knew. And Dumbledore trusted him. Harry knew this too.

But Dumbledore wasn't-

Snape didn't seem to have noticed Harry's attention, or if he had he didn't seem to much care.

His voice jolted Harry out of his reverie. "Potter!"

"What?"

"Were you listening to a single thing I said?"

Shite. "Er..."

"No, you were not. I know it is difficult for someone of your limited intellect to keep your attention focused on one thing for any length of time, but do _try_."

"Severus..." Lupin began. "Wouldn't just have been easier to repeat what you said, rather than berate Harry needlessly?"

Snape ignored him and cast the spell again.

The memories came like the tide. Furtive expeditions outside Gryffindor Tower with Ron and Hermione... Barging into Fred and Angelina's awkward fumblings in the Quidditch changing room... The line of Cho Chang's jaw, the fall of her hair as she passed by him in the halls... Harry himself slowly descending a flight of stairs, towards an open door...

Shite. Shite, no.

For a moment, the memory seemed to become hazy, unfocused. And then he was plunged into the next, watching Ron watch Hermione in History of magic-

Snape broke the spell.

Harry dropped heavily to the floor. It felt as though he'd just run a marathon.

Snape was watching him with frank appraisal in his eyes. "At last, progress," he murmured. "Now, Potter. For a moment there, you showed a modicum of resistance. You concealed a memory you did not wish me to see. I must confess, I did not think you capable of such a feat."

Harry bristled at the insult.

"Before you achieved your paltry little success, something must have elicited an emotion that spurred you to hide that memory in particular."

"Yeah, I was-"

Snape waved his hand dismissively. "Potter, I don't care what it was. Something you must understand about Occlumency is that it is very difficult to describe how it is done in words-"

"'Cause it's all in your head."

"Yes, Potter. I want you to recall in your mind that particular emotion and concentrate upon it to se if we cannot reproduce your success."

Harry nodded once and attempted to focus on that particular mix of shame and anger, that burning desire not to get caught.

Snape raised his wand. " _Legilimens_!"

 

It wasn't until the next day, late in the afternoon, that Harry was able to block another memory from Snape. The effort it took gave him a horrendous, throbbing headache, his brain feeling like it had been savaged by a cheese grater.

"Harry? Harry, do you think you can move?" Lupin was at his side, both hands bracing Harry into a sitting position

He shook his head weakly. "I just- I'm okay. I wanna lie down."

"All right," Lupin said, giving his shoulder a squeeze, and eased him back down on the floor.

Something soft was slid under his head to serve as an impromptu pillow. Harry closed his eyes and listened to his own rasped breathing. His limbs felt as though they'd been weighed down with lead, and exhaustion was spreading over his mind like spilt ink.

He could hear whispering. Voices.

Snape and Lupin were talking.

"... Yes, but you aren't going to tell me that's _normal_."

"Lupin, we are demanding a great deal of effort from a mind unaccustomed to such. The boy's exhaustion should not bee seen as that extraordinary."

"Severus..." Lupin paused. "Will he have this reaction every time he uses Occlumency?"

"Not likely. As he becomes more adept, it will become easier for him."

"That's good to know." Lupin sighed. "Harry?"

Harry managed a grunt. H knew anything more was beyond him at this point.

He heard Lupin's quite tread approach. The floorboards creaked beside his head, and Harry felt a hand settle on his shoulder.

"I-" Lupin's voice was barely a whisper. "He'd have been proud of you."

Harry clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt.

Sleep claimed him before he could do anything rash.

 

When Harry woke, he was in his own room, and out the window, he could see the night sky. He wondered what time it was, how long he'd been out. Wondered whether it was Snape or Lupin who had moved him to his room.

He didn't know which possibility upset him more.

Harry stared at the walls, the ceiling. Probably the only good thing about the insane regimen Snape had imposed on him was that after a whole day of Occlumency lessons, he was too exhausted to dream. He was glad of that, because recently they'd begun to unsettle him. They were the same every night -- blood everywhere, mad, writhing snakes, and he was almost always alone.

He was sure they had some deep, symbolic meaning, but he really, really did not want to know what it was.

Harry listened to the creaking of people moving about the house until he fell back asleep.

 

The next morning, Harry came down to breakfast to find Snape alone in the kitchen, his attention divided between a large cauldron in the fireplace and a few frying pans on the old-fashioned wood stove.

"Uh... Where's Professor Lupin?"

Snape didn't even bother to turn around. "Today, as I'm sure you're not aware, is the full moon. Lupin is due to undergo the change in a little over an hour, and shall spend the rest of the day as a wolf. You will be pleased to hear," he said, and Harry could hear the contempt behind the words, "that because of this, today's lesson will be cancelled."

"Oh, good," Harry said, because he knew it would annoy Snape.

Snape spun around, face white with anger, forefinger jutting out at Harry. "Do not think for a moment, Potter, that this means that you will be allowed to slack off. Lesson or no, I expect considerable progress from you when we resume. Your efforts so far have been pathetic-"

"I've been making an effort!" Harry shot back.

"Ah, yes, the famous Potter work ethic. 'Skive hard, play harder,' is that it?"

Harry bit back his first reply, and answered Snape with forced calmness. "I am making an effort. I _will_ make an effort. I know how important this is, okay?"

Snape looked taken aback, but the response seemed to have mollified him somewhat. "Well, we shall see, Potter. We shall see. Now. What is it you wanted to see Lupin about?"

"Um, we usually have breakfast together. The Occlumency makes me feel sick, so he insists that I eat with him, so he can make sure I _am_ eating-"

Snape rolled his eyes and huffed dramatically. He took a plate from the counter, emptied the contents of one of the frying pans onto it, and set it in front of Harry. "We shan't have to worry about that today, now shall we? No lessons should result in no lack of appetite. Eat your breakfast, Potter."

Harry sat down at the table, picked up a fork, and gave his breakfast a poke. There were fried eggs, fried sausages, and hash-browned potatoes. It all smelt delicious. A tentative bit was enough to convince him that it was edible, so Harry tucked in with an enthusiasm that surprised even him.

With a shake of his head, Snape turned back to the cauldron.

Halfway through his potatoes, Harry recalled the other reason he'd come down tot he kitchen. "Sir?"

" _Yes_ , Potter?"

"Has the post come yet? Only I want to know if my OWL results have arrived, I've been waiting for almost-"

"Yes, and yes." Snape gestured vaguely at a stack of papers on the counter without even turning around. "It's in there somewhere. Lupin made quite a production what it came this morning. I'm surprised he didn't wake you to share the, ah, good news."

Harry retrieved the envelope, and turned it slowly over in his hands. The paper looked like the same cream-coloured stock that Hogwarts used, but it was addressed in dark purple ink, and the envelope was sealed with a crest he assumed was the Ministry's.

He tucked it under his plate, and could barely keep his eyes off it as he hurried to finish his breakfast.

He ran back to his room without even a backwards glance at Snape.

The door carefully shut behind him -- he didn't want to be interrupted -- Harry sat down at his desk, fingering the initials carved into it. His pulse quickened as he broke the wax seal.

He took out the pieces of parchment. Unfolded them.

~~~

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVELS FOR HARRY POTTER

Transfigurations E*  
Charms E*  
Defence Against the Dark Arts O*  
Potions A  
History of Magic (P)  
Herbology E*  
Astronomy (P)  
Divination (D)  
Care of Magical Creatures A*

 

You have obtained 6 OWLs.

All courses marked by an asterisk are those for which you have obtained the minimum required to take as NEWT level.

If, however, you chose not to take any of the courses for which you now qualify, you are required to inform Hogwarts in writing _before_ 7 August.

Griselda Marchbanks  
Wizarding Examinations Authority

~~~

Harry read it through again. Six OWLs. All right. That wasn't that bad. Six out of nine was- was pretty good.

Except-

Except that he had his Potions OWL, but he hadn't done well enough to qualify for Advanced Potions.

"Shite."

Shite. McGonagall had said he needed Advanced Potions to be an Auror. And now- now-

Harry shoved himself to his feet and delivered a swift, sharp kick to his trunk.

He staggered back with a yelp. Now his bloody foot hurt, on top of everything else. He slumped back into the chair, and looked at the other sheets of parchment that had been in the envelope with his OWL results.

The first was a simple form letter that he could fill out to let Hogwarts know what courses he was dropping. Harry wasn't planning on using that one -- he knew he needed at least five NEWTs to be an Auror, and now five NEWTs was the most he could forward to.

The second letter, however, was written in the old-fashioned hand of Professor McGonagall.

_Mister Potter,_

_rest assured that I have not forgotten what I promised you last year, in spite of all the troubles._

_You_ will _be taking Potions next term, you have my word._

_Minerva McGonagall_  
 _Deputy Headmistress_

Harry closed his eyes and felt his body shake with emotion. He didn't know if it was tears or laughter.

 

Nearly a half-hour later, the silence that had settled over Grimmauld Place was rent by a muffled scream.

It was cut off mid-way.

Harry knew what it meant. He hoped Lupin was all right.

 

When Harry ventured downstairs a few hour later, he found Snape sprawled bonelessly on the sofa, one leg thrown over an armrest. He was reading a book. From where he was standing, Harry couldn't see the title.

A wolf -- Lupin -- was curled up at Snape's foot, sleeping.

Harry blinked. And stared. This was quite possibly the most bizarre thing he had ever seen. After a few more uncomforatble minutes, he cleared his throat. "Ah, Professor?"

Snape's head shot up from his book and he straightened in his seat, pressing his lips together in a thin white line. "Potter. What is it that you want?"

He hadn't come down for any reason, just for something to do. "Um..." Think think think. "Um, I was wondering if I could go for a walk? Outside?"

Snape's mouth twisted into a sneer. "As estatic as I would be to be free of your presence for but a few hours, I am afraid I must refuse you. Professor McGonagall has left instructions that under no circomstances are you to be allowed to leave Grimmauld Place unsupervised."

Snape swept the room with his gaze, his features twisting into a fierce anger, asif he had just realised that he wasn't alone in the drawing room.

From his spot on the floor, Lupin looked up and blinked sleepily at both of them.

"And now if you'll excuse me, Potter, there are things I need to take care of." And with this, Snape dropped his book to the floor and stalked out of the room. It was unnerving how the man managed to still swoop about like a bat even in Muggle clothes.

Harry booted Snape's book under the sofa. "He's such a bastard."

Lupin made a snorty noise and settled into the spot on the sofa that Snape had just vacated.

 

That night, sleep was elusive.

Harry spent nearly three hours lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. Keeping his mind empty without the aid of exhaustion proved to be far more difficult than he'd expected. He had no idea he had so many thoughts in his head.

And that might, for the first time since he'd left the Dursleys, he dreamt.

 

Lupin woke him the next morning. Harry was sweaty and tangled in his sheets, and still tired.

Fear nibbled at his belly and he had no idea why.

But Lupin, despite how wretched he looked, was smiling. "Happy birthday, Harry."

Oh. Right. Harry managed a weak smile in reply. "Thanks."

"Are you okay, Harry? You look a bit peakish-"

"I'm fine. I just- didn't sleep well last night. Bad dreams."

"Ah. Is it that-"

"No. No. It's just me."

Lupin nodded curtly, and patted him on the shoulder. "Just making sure, you understand. And when you're awake, come down to the kitchen. I've got a surprise for you."

Harry waved to Lupin as he left the room, and then slumped back on his pillows. He hated surprises. The way this summer had been going, it was probably going to turn out that Snape was now allowed to use Filch's whips and chains to make sure that Harry's progress at Occlumency was 'satisfactory'.

"God, I hate this," he muttered.

His head shot up when he heard laughter, but it turned out to be just Phineas Nigellus' empty portrait frame.

"You're a bastard, too" he told it.

All this did was make the laughter grow fainter, as if Phineas were walking away.

It took Harry about an hour until he was awake enough to venture downstairs. Most of that had been spent blinking owlishly at the ceiling, trying to get his brain started so he wouldn't fall over when he took his shower.

Finally cleaned and dressed, he walked down to the kitchen, where he found Snape at the counter, glaring at the world over his morning cup of coffee, Lupin tending something on the wood stove and fruitlessly attempting to make conversation with Snape, and-

And Ron and Hermione sitting at the table, nearly identical nervous expressions on their faces.

Harry froze. They stared at one another for a good minute before Hermione propelled herself across the room in a cloud of bushy hair to catch him in a tight embrace.

"Oh, Harry!"

"Er... Hullo, Hermione," he replied. Surely he must have imagined that sneer he'd seen on Ron's face.

"I was _so_ _worried_ about you! When you didn't reply to my letters, I wrote to Professor Dumbledore to ask him if you were all right because I was so concerned. He said you were fine, but I knew something was wrong. Oh, Harry!" She delivered all this in a breathless stream of words, her face pressed into his shoulder.

Harry hoped she would let go soon -- his hands were beginning to go numb. And across the room, Ron was doing a fair -- if unintentional -- Snape impersonation.

"Oh, let go of him, Hermione," Ron drawled. "I don't think he can breathe."

Hermione pulled away, a faint blush on her cheeks. "Well, I'm _sorry_ for missing a friend I hadn't seen in a month, Ronald Weasley."

Ron rolled his eyes and pushed himself to his feet. He stuck out his hand, and Harry shook it gratefully. "It's good to see you, mate."

"Yeah, you too, Ron."

"Happy birthday."

"Thanks."

"You okay?"

Harry shrugged.

"I know I didn't write you. I figured that, you know... "

"Yeah."

Ron nodded slowly. "Yeah."

Hermione cleared her throat. "So why don't you tell us what you're doing at Grimmauld Place, Harry?"

"Er... " Harry looked over at Snape, who shook his head. "I can't say, Hermione. I'm sorry."

"Hmph. Well, I'm sure it's _very_ important. Ron and I will make sure that our visit doesn't disrupt you _too_ much."

"Visit?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yes." Hermione nodded briskly. "Professor McGonagall arranged it special. She didn't want you to spend your birthday alone."

"Wait. Wait. You're not _staying_?"

"Of course we're staying, Harry. We'll be here all day."

"That's not what I meant. You won't- you won't be staying until school starts?"

Hermione and Ron exchanged pained looks. "We thought you knew. We aren't allowed to stay because of- because of what you're doing. Professor McGonagall said we'd be a distraction." Hermione passed her tongue over her lips. "Please don't be angry."

"I'm not." And he wasn't. He wasn't even surprised. Or shocked. He only felt mildly disappointed.

And ever, ever so slightly relieved.

Across the room, Lupin put a lid on the pan he'd been stirring, and turned from the stove. He motioned to Snape, whose only reply was a roll of his eyes, and they made to leave the room.

Harry spoke up. "Uh, Professor Lupin?"

Both men stopped and turned, Snape scowling and Lupin smiling blandly. "Yes, Harry?"

"What about- um, you know-"

Lupin's smile grew broader. "Don't worry about that, Harry. You sound today with your friends and have fun."

"'kay," Harry replied, as Lupin followed Snape out of the kitchen.

Once they were well and truly gone, Ron rounded on him. "Come on, mate, how bad is it having to spend twenty four hours a day with _Snape_?"

Harry smiled briefly. "It's awful. He's _insane_. I think he's trying to work me to death."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, _Harry_. He's a Hogwarts professor. He wouldn't try to-"

Ron waved her to silence. "Yeah, Bill says the same thing, you know, that he's a nutter. I'm glad I'm not in your shoes."

"... Yeah, well, sometimes I wish someone else was in my shoes."

A shrug. "If I could change things for you, I would."

"I know."

"Oh, you two!" Hermione exclaimed. "Let's talk about something less gloomy. Harry," she continued, turning to him, "how did you do on your O.W.L.s?"

Urk. "Um, you know. All right."

She screwed up her face as she tried to arch a single eyebrow. "Well, 'all right' is good. _I_ received ten." She turned to Ron.

"Nine," he muttered.

"Wow," Harry said, suitably impressed. "Ron, that's- that's really good. That's, like, everything we took."

Ron's ears were glowing a bright, violent red. "... Yeah."

"Ten," Hermione continued. "All O's."

"Three A's," Ron countered, "four E's, and two O's. Because I like a bit of variety. Everything's boring if it's all same-y."

Hermione sniffed in disdain. "Bad marks are not something to be proud of, Ron."

"Shows what you know. Some of us are _proud_ that we're not as keen as you, eh, Harry?"

A convenient coughing fit was enough to keep him from laughing. "Yeah. Two A's, three E's, and an O. Variety's good."

Hermione blinked. "Only six O.W.L.s, Harry? That's not very good at all."

Harry scowled, and felt himself grow angrier. "Six is _fine_ , Hermione. Not everyone-"

Ron cut him off, kept him from saying anything stupid. "It's more than the average, it's more than what Fred and George got put together-"

"Yes, but six out of a potential twelve, that isn't very-"

"We only took nine courses, Hermione. That's six out of a potential _nine_. Two-thirds-"

"- is still not something to be proud of. Harry should have worked harder-"

"Well, I'm sorry, but I had other things on my mind," Harry shot back, louder and angrier than he'd wanted to.

Hermione froze, her mouth gaping wide. "I-" she started, after a long and uncomfortable silence. "I- I'm sorry, Harry. I'm sorry. I just forgot. I was only worried for you."

"Yeah." Yeah, he was sure of that. "It's okay. Can we just not talk about our O.W.L.s anymore, all right?"

She smiled weakly. "Okay. No more O.W.L.s. I promise."

Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "Siddown, Harry. You won't _believe_ what happened to me and Fred-"

"Fred and _I_ , Ron."

"No, Hermione, you weren't there. I would've noticed. Anyway, last week, me and Fred... "

And Ron was off. Harry watched him and smiled.

 

Hermione was down in the kitchen with Lupin, helping to prepare supper -- there'd been a bit of an accident with the roast -- and that left Harry alone with Ron and Snape in the first-floor drawing room.

Snape stood by one of the bookshelves, absorbed in a book, studiously ignoring them. Harry and Ron, however, sat in uncomfortable silence, very much aware of his presence.

Ron was very clearly preoccupied by something involving Snape, as he kept shooting him worried looks every few minutes. Harry was tempted to ask what it was, but he was very sure that Ron didn't want Snape to know what was on his mind, especially if it concerned Snape himself. 

He'd be glad when this was over, though -- the afternoon had been tense and uncomfortable, the conversation forced and the pauses many. There were only so many Amusing Weasley Anecdotes that Ron could drag out before they sunk back into silence.

There were so many things that they couldn't -- or wouldn't -- talk about and while Harry was grateful that his friends didn't force him on this, he did wish that they would pick up the reigns, fill in the holes of the conversation that he could not. Now he was somewhat glad that Snape was in the room. The silence -- without even a hint of discomfort -- was very welcome.

Ron, however, seemed to be more anxious with every passing moment. Harry edged over closer to him.

"Mate," he whispered in his ear, "you all right?"

Ron's head swivelled 'round. "Um. Yeah. 'm fine."

"Only you look like you have something on your mind." Harry jerked his head in Snape's direction. "Something with him."

Snape was still reading his book, and didn't seem to have noticed their attention.

"Uh. Um. It's a bit stupid, is all."

"What, you fancy him?"

"Harry!" Ron hissed, almost too loud. "Ugh! I mean, first, he's a bloke, and second, he's _Snape_. Ugh."

Harry let out a snort of laughter. The image of Ron mooning over Snape had been too much to resist. "Sorry. Sorry. But come on, Ron, it's _funny_."

"No, it isn't!" Ron huffed in an almost Hermione-esque manner. "I'm going to have nightmares now!"

"Yeah, so tell me what it is. And if you don't, I can think up worse than you and Snape."

"All right, all right, ease up you pervert. Well, um, it's about my O.W.L.s-"

"Oh. What about 'em?"

Ron's ears were starting to turn red. "Um. Well, ah... I got an E in Potions, and since Snape only lets you in if you have an O, I wanted to ask him if he'd, you know, bend the rule a bit, and let me in. The class."

"Oh." _Ron_ had a better chance of getting into Advanced Potions than he did. "Why?"

"Well, um, because, well, because I want to. For, ah, for my future."

"Hermione told you to, didn't she?"

"Charlie got into Advanced Potions with only an E. He says all you have to do is ask Snape. Because it shows, um, dedication to the subject."

"Yeah. You should."

" _Now_?"

"Yeah. He doesn't eat with us. Goes for walks. You might not have another chance before school starts."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

Ron stood, took a deep breath, and marched across the room. Snape looked up from his book with a scowl on his face.

They spoke quietly, their tones hushed, and Harry couldn't hear what they were saying. Ron was doing most of the talking, looking nowhere as nervous as Harry had thought he'd be.

Snape looked deeply sceptical, interrupting Ron's monologue every so often to make brief comments that only made Ron falter.

After enough of this, Snape shook his head and spoke one last sentence. Ron's face fell for a brief moment, and Harry felt a surge of sympathy for his friend.

But Ron's expression cleared up, and he began to nod slowly, mouthing what was obviously a thanks. He was back at Harry's side in an instant.

"What'd he say?"

"That he'd think about it."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, but you know, it's not a no." Ron shrugged. "He might say yes later."

Harry shook his head. "It's _Snape_. He's going to dangle it over your head for a while, and then tell you, no, he doesn't want you in his class." And he regretted saying it the instant it was out of his mouth. Because there was a part of him that wondered how true it really was.

Ron shrugged again, a nervous grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah, but at least I asked, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

 

Between them, Lupin and Hermione put together something that was at least halfway edible -- but due to delays and other complications, it wasn't ready until past nine.

The four of them ate in relative silence, though Hermione would occasionally pepper Lupin with questions about the upcoming term. It wasn't until Harry started to pay attention to what they were saying that he realised why she would be asking Lupin -- of all people such things.

" _You're_ teaching Defence next term?" he blurted out.

Lupin's brow furrowed, the stark lines of his face growing deeper. "Yes. Didn't I tell you?"

Harry shook his head.

Ron let out a whoop of delight. "That's _brilliant_! It's about time we got someone who knew what they were doing!"

"Thank you, Ron. I'm glad you think that."

"Yeah, I mean, after Umbridge, they could hardly do worse than her, but with you, you know, that's great."

And when Lupin smiled and shook his head, Harry bent back over his plate. He nudged a pea around his potatoes as his anger flared. He was not looking forward to next term. The past week had been bad enough -- he did not want to have to deal with anymore of Lupin's false, passive friendship.

Hermione was nodding. "It is, isn't it? I was so very pleased when professor Lupin told me a few hours ago. I was worried we would get another Ministry mole this year.

"You know," and she faced Harry, smiling, "if it weren't for you, Harry, I don't think we would've learnt anything-"

"Hermione, that's enough," Harry snapped.

She looked taken aback. "Well, I'm sorry, but it's true-"

" _Hermione_." A note of anger had crept into his voice that made Harry cringe inside.

"I'm sorry," he continued, seeing the stricken look that passed over her face. "I'm just- I'm tired. I'm sorry. I've had a bad week."

Lupin patted him on the shoulder. "But you've done well."

Harry tried not to flinch from his touch. How long, he wondered, had Lupin planned to keep this a secret? But it did explain some things. He smiled vaguely at Lupin and slouched further into his chair.

"... Ah, Professor Lupin?"

"Yes, Hermione?"

"I've been meaning to ask you since we arrived, but the opportunity hasn't presented itself-"

"What is it, dear?"

"Well, Ron dropped his shoes when he took them off, and we didn't hear Mrs Black portrait screaming. And to think of it, I haven't seen Kreacher since we arrived. What happed to them?"

Lupin dipped his head and smiled. "Well, first of all, at the beginning of July, we finally figured out how to get rid of the portrait -- we actually took down the section of the wall where it had been attached and replaced it. It was Professor Snape's idea, really, and not a bad one at that."

Ron snorted loudly, and Hermione made a hushing gesture. "And Kreacher?"

"Honestly, Hermione," Ron interrupted. "Why are you so worried about some bloody house-elf?"

" _Because_ , Ron, I care about what happens to my fellow magical creatures."

Lupin took a deep breath. "After- after what happened a month ago," he began, glancing over at Harry as he said it, with nothing but pity in his eyes.

Harry clenched his fists beneath the table. He'd never felt so angry -- but his friends didn't seem to have noticed. They were watching Lupin with faint interest (from Ron) and rapt attention (from Hermione) on their faces.

And strangely enough, Harry felt a queer sort of relief that this anger was his own, and not something foreign stamped into his thoughts.

"It was Dumbledore's decision," Lupin continued, "that- that now Kreacher was a security risk and had to be- taken care of."

"Taken- care of?" Hermione repeated, her tone dry with scepticism.

"Yes. Taken care of. I'm sorry, but I can't say any more."

Hermione was nodding thoughtfully. "Was it quick?" She finally asked.

"Yes."

They finished their meal in silence.

After Lupin cleared the plates away, Hermione brought out a fancy-looking chocolate cake, crowned with sixteen lit candles, which she set on the table in front of Harry.

Lupin muttered an incantation, and the lights dimmed.

Hermione placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and whispered in his ear. "Make a wish." Her voice was low and throat and very much unlike herself.

Harry stared at the cake and watched the candles slowly begin to burn down, his mouth dry and his mind blank. There was noting he could think of, there really was nothing that he wanted anymore.

With that thought, Harry let his mind go blank. He took a deep breath, and blew out all sixteen candles at once.

The lights came back on, and Ron, Hermione and Lupin all applauded.

Ron abruptly pushed himself to his feet. He looked over at Hermione. "If you take care of the cake, I'll get the presents," he said. Hermione nodded and Ron left the room at a run.

Hermione leaned over Harry's shoulder and began to pull the candles from the cake. "What did you wish for?"

"You know I can't say. If I tell you, it won't come true."

Hermione shrugged and set the candles on the edge of the cake plate. "Fair enough. Say, did you like the candles?"

"Yeah. Yeah, they were nice."

"I don't know if you noticed, but they were Muggle."

"Oh, yeah?"

"I wanted to get you magic ones, since they burned in all different colours, but, unfortunately they also sing when you light them. Badly. And off-key."

Harry made a face. "Oh."

"Yes, I assumed you wouldn't want something like that for your birthday. All a bit much, really. But Ron didn't think so, though."

"No?"

"No. He said Muggle candles weren't proper for a wizard's birthday, that you should only use magical stuff. You know how he is."

Harry nodded.

Ron walked in, a few moments later, a small stack of presents in his arms. Harry felt his face grow warm.

Ron set the brightly wrapped packages on the table. "Go on then, mate. Open them up."

Harry picked on at random, and carefully peeled off its plain brown paper. A frame. He turned it over to see if there was a picture, and froze at what he saw. Immortalised in immobile black and white were his father and his friends, the four of them photographed sitting in front of a tree, laughing, young.

Harry looked up and met Lupin's eyes -- there was no one else that this could have come from.

Lupin gave him a hesitant shrug. "It's from me."

It was not quite a lie. Harry knew the gift was not just from Lupin.

"Your mother took -- Muggle camera," he continued, "that's why we're all still. Just before the end of our seventh year."

Harry made noises of thanks, though he didn't mean any of them, and set the picture face down before he started on the next present.

It was from Ron, and looked at first to be a plain white t-shirt. But when Harry held it up to get a look at the front, large black letters appeared, spelling out a rude word. After a few moments, it vanished to be replaced by a pithy sentence. That too soon disappeared.

"It's from Fred and George. The latest product," Ron said, and at his words, the _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_ logo appeared briefly. "Thought you'd like it. It's the first one, yours. It hasn't gone on sale yet."

"Fall off the back of a broom, did it?" Hermione snapped, almost peevishly.

"No!" Ron shot back. "It's all above-board. I just thought-"

"I like it," Harry interrupted. He knew he'd never be allowed to wear at school, but at least during his Occlumency lessons it would annoy Snape to no end.

"Open mine next," Hermione said, shoving a small, red package into his hands.

A book, of course. A study guide for his N.E.W.T.s. Harry suppressed a groan.

Ron, however, didn't seem to have as much self-control and snorted, loudly, behind his hands.

Hermione glared at him before turning back to Harry. "I thought you might find it useful."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I will. Thanks, Hermione."

She was practically beaming at his words.

"There's only one left," Lupin said. "Who’s it from?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't know, but there's a card with it." He opened it quickly, and immediately recognised the rough handwriting.

"It's from Hagrid," Harry said as he began to peel off the paper. "It's... a book."

"Four books," Hermione corrected, as she strained her neck to get a look at the title. "It's the complete _Chronicle and Cannon of the Green Book_."

"The what?"

"Actual Wizarding literature. I think it was written at the beginning of the 16th century. It's a classic-"

"Bill read it. He said it was good."

"Hagrid says," Harry interrupted, as he read the card, "that he read it when he was my age, and he really liked it," _it helped me through a hard time_ , read the card, "and thought I would, too." He folded the card and slid it in the cover of the first book

 

McGonagall arrived at about ten in the evening via the Floo, and briskly gestured Ron and Hermione to their feet. Her scowl softened when she looked at Harry.

"I'm sorry to have to interrupt the celebrations, Potter, but the hour grows late, and it is vital for us that you stay rested."

Ron made noises of protest, but Harry barely heard them as he was caught up in Hermione's fierce embrace, muffled by a layer of hair and soft flesh. He squeezed her back, and held tight until she released her grip.

Something tightened in his chest as she pulled away, wiping at her eyes with a corner of her sleeve.

"Oh, _Harry_!"

And from Ron, a nod and a handshake. "I'll see you, mate."

"Yeah."

"We'll come back, Harry," Hermione continued, "before the summer is up. I promise."

"Yeah," Harry replied, and he meant every word. "Yeah, that'll be nice."

He gave them a final wave goodbye as they followed McGonagall up the stairs. For the first time since his friends arrived, Harry wished they could have stayed longer. He was suddenly angry with himself for wasting the day, knowing he was going to spend the rest of his summer locked up in Grimmauld Place with Lupin and Snape-

Lupin's hand clutched his shoulder, and only that kept him from racing up the stairs after Ron and Hermione, to beg with McGonagall to let them stay just a little while longer-

"Harry?" it was Lupin.

"What?"

"Minerva asked me to keep you down here for the moment -- she wants to have a word with you after she's seen Ron and Hermione home."

"Okay. I'll wait."

"Good lad. She said it had something to do with your classes this year-"

"All right."

McGonagall returned after a few minutes' wait that felt longer than it was.

"Professor Lupin, thank you," she said. Lupin nodded at her, smiled at Harry, and left the room.

"Potter," she continued, "do sit down."

Harry complied, and McGonagall took a seat facing his.

"You received my letter."

"Yes, Professor."

"Do you have your Potions texts here with you?"

"They're in my trunk, yeah." Harry refrained from asking why. This was McGonagall at her most intimidating.

"I've know Severus Snape since he was a child, Potter, and I am fairly certain I can convince him -- though one way or another -- to let you into his Advanced Potions class. But."

"... But?"

"But you must promise me that you will revise Potions before the start of term." She held up her hand to forestall any protests. "I am well aware of the intense regimen Professor Snape has put you on, Potter, but if he is to allow you into his class, you must be up to snuff. You must prove to _him_ that you deserve to be let in."

"I got my Potions O.W.L.-"

"I know you did, Potter, and I am proud of your achievement. It should make my task that much easier. But we don't want to give him any excuse to eject you from his class, and I can assure you that even I would consider poor performance a good excuse."

Harry swallowed loudly. "I can do it. Really. I promise."

She smiled, not unkindly. "You'll have more free time this term, Potter, so you'll have no excuse not to. Do your very best. Ask Miss Granger to tutor you, if you must. If you do truly wish to be an Auror, you must be prepared to prove it, to push yourself, to make sacrifices."

She pushed herself to her feet. "And I don't want to hear from Professor Snape that you're being disrespectful."

"Yes, Professor."

"Now come. Off with you to bed."

 

Snape was noticeably more unpleasant the next day. Harry wondered what it was that McGonagall had said to him, but he was certainly glad that he hadn't been there to see it. Not only would his presence have exacerbated Snape's anger, but Harry knew that Snape would not have been happy to hear what McGonagall said to him, no matter how nicely phrased.

Harry was careful over the next few days not to do anything to antagonise Snape -- thought he would not have been able to, even it he had wanted to. He simply didn't have the energy. When he didn't have his Occlumency lessons with Snape and Lupin, he was busy revising all his old Potions notes and re-reading the textbook, marking up the margins with notes and cross-references.

Harry wondered what Snape thought of this, if he would be impressed by the effort Harry was making in both subjects.

 

A week and a half after his birthday, Harry finally began to see his efforts pay off.

Snape paced the room where they held their lessons, though he stopped and looked over when Harry entered the room, his face creasing into a scowl. Harry wondered for a moment what it was that was making Snape so upset before he remembered -- the deadline was soon approaching for when Snape had told Dumbledore that Voldemort was planning to liberate Azkaban. Harry quickly looked away from Snape's gaze.

"Potter."

Harry handed his wand to Lupin and took his place only a few feet from Snape, his eyes still fixed on a spot on the floor. "I'm ready."

"Hmph."

Harry heard a faint whispering noise as Snape drew out his wand. He tensed his muscles, concentrated, keeping his mind on not thinking, empty like a wind tunnel so Snape's spell would pass through untouched-

" _Legilimens!_ "

It felt as though a wave had crashed against his thoughts. Harry looked up, slowly. He could see a faint light in Snape's eyes, shifting colours oddly, almost like a-

Harry swallowed. And the wave swallowed him.

He was eight years old and being told off by his Muggle teacher for trying to teach the class pet to fly -- never mind that it had worked... Hermione was lecturing Ron and him after a particularly gruelling test-

The spell broke.

Snape slid his wand back up his sleeve and made an odd noise. "You surprise me, Potter."

"What happened?" Lupin said as he approached. "What did Harry do?"

"I did it."

"That's great-"

Snape raised his hand in protest. "No, you have not. I will concede that you have attained an important milestone, but you still have a long ways to go before you've completely mastered Occlumency."

"How do you feel, Harry? Do you need to lie down?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I'm okay -- well, I'm not great," he conceded, as dizziness swept over him, "but I'm not about to faint or fall over or anything, if that's what you mean."

"That's good, that's good."

Harry nodded. "Professor Snape?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"How further _do_ I have to go?"

Snape's lips twitched into a smirk. "Well, a particularly skilled Occlumens would not have, as you did, blocked me off completely from his mind, but rather would have been able to discern what I wanted to see in his mind, and would have shown me only what he wanted me to see. But you-"

"But I don't need to know how to do all that, do I, sir?"

Snape seemed irked by the interruption, but didn't comment on it. "This is true. This is true. But you do need to keep your mind occluded for more than a few moments."

The afterglow of success faded just a bit. "... Oh. I thought it had lasted longer."

"Mmm, yes. It does often _feel_ like longer. The effort of concentration seems to slow down one's perception of time."

"Oh. I didn't know that."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Your progress will go as far as it can before term starts in September."

Harry nodded.

Snape took his wand out again. "Ready yourself, Potter. We aren't done for today."

 

Harry collapsed into bed that night, exhausted. But this wasn't the same exhaustion as the pat two weeks -- a bone-deep, ugly tiredness -- this was how he felt after a Quidditch game, like he'd done something that mattered.

He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

 

_The stairs had been cut directly into the face of the cliff -- hundreds of them, thousands. In the gloam of twilight, Harry could barely see the great, vast, ancient temple that loomed above them, at the top of the staircase. It had been carved out of sandstone, normally a pale blond colour, but was painted a vivid red from the light of the sunset -- the same colour as the sky, the stair, the sand._

_He choked as he breathed, his throat raspy and raw from the dust and the heat and the screaming. But Harry kept climbing, knowing that there was nothing in the world that would have made him stop._

_Because Evan was ahead of him, ascending to the temple, taking the stairs two at a time, completely effortlessly. Harry knew it was him, though all he could see was a dark shape that would be almost invisible were it not for his hair, turned a burnished bronze in the dying sunlight._

_Harry cried out for him, praying, praying, that this time it would make a difference, that for once, Evan would listen. That he would stop, that Harry finally would be able to reach him, to-_

_He stumbled, from exhaustion, from lack of concentration, his foot slipping on the millennia-worn stone. He fell, slamming his jaw on a stair. His mouth filled with blood as the pain lightninged up his face._

_Only his reflexes kept him from sliding any further, his fingers scraping against the stone as he held fast._

_Ahead of him, he heard Evan stop._

_Harry wanted to cry out, but couldn't. The desert was too dry for tears._

_He staggered to his feet and wiped away the blood. The pain in his jaw faded, as did every other ache inflicted upon his body, when he looked up to see Evan, still several metres ahead of him, smiling that same raucous grin that now only served to break his heart-_

_And Evan turned around and continued upward._

_Harry followed him, trying to keep apace, but with every step he took, he fell further behind._

_"Please!" Harry screamed. "Please! Why won't you stop?!"_

_"You only have to hurry up," Evan replied, laughing. "You only have to go faster."_

_"I can't, I can't!" Harry choked, his voice shaking. "Please stop! Please. I can't do this."_

_"Yes, you can. You_ will _. You just have to try harder." Evan sounded so reasonable, because he always did._

_There was no anger in him -- there was nothing left in his heart to fuel it, only a cruel sort of emptiness, a wanting, a hollow ache._

_The sun dipped below the horizon, and night fell at that moment as swiftly as an executioner's blade. There were stars in the sky, cold, hard, little pinpricks -- but they only served to make the darkness darker._

_Only then, only then did Evan stop. He was barely visible, a darker spot against the dark cliff face._

_"Evan," Harry moaned, falling to his knees on the still-warm stone, because he knew what would happen next, and he dreaded it._

_Evan turned and smiled, and all Harry could see of it in the darkness were his teeth, his grin as wide and as bright as a shark's. "Oh, Severus," Evan said, a familiar, sympathetic note in his voice. "Oh, Severus. There's always next time. I'm sure you'll be able to make it someday... "_

_Evan's voice faded as he vanished, leaving Harry alone on the staircase, perched on a narrow ledge of stone, wildly diverging emotions tugging his heart in all directions -- the pain wrenched him as though the wounds were still fresh, and yet something was wrong, something was out of place-_

 

Harry awoke in a tangle of sweaty sheets, his dream a perfect, pure memory in his mind -- chasing a person he didn't know up a place he'd never visited. But clearest in his mind was what that stranger had called him.

Severus.

He'd been Snape. In his dream, he'd been Snape. He'd dreamt he was Snape.

Harry took two wheezing breaths as his mind wrapped itself around that, and screamed.


	3. oneiromancy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found on an old hard drive, posted for posterity.

Harry screamed, and tore asunder the midnight silence of Grimmauld Place. Snape. He'd dreamt he'd been Snape. It was awful, unthinkable, frightening -- and he had no idea what it meant, whether the dream was his, or Voldemort's, or even Snape's -- disturbing possibilities, one and all- 

The sound of raised voices came from the floor above. Harry pushed himself up, and sat up against the headboard. He reached for his glasses and lit the lamp near his head. A few deep breaths were enough to calm his heart.

He heard pounding footfalls in the halls outside, fast approaching his room-

The door was suddenly flung open and Lupin and Snape ran in, wands out and grim lines etched on their faces. They were wearing only their nightclothes, and Snape alone had remembered to throw on a dressing gown -- Lupin was still in a faded, patched nightshirt.

"Harry?" Lupin asked, lowering his wand, worry softening his expression.

But Harry had only eyes for Snape, who watched him too, his eyes hooded and a familiar sneer playing on his lips. Harry knew how he must look, wide-eyed and sweating, gaping and wheezing, but he didn't care. His odd, strange dream was what mattered now -- and what part Snape might have played in causing it.

"Well, Potter, what is the matter?"

"I- I- " But words wouldn't come. He had no idea how to explain this -- and to Snape of all people.

Especially not in front of Lupin.

"I had a dream," he finished lamely.

Lupin settled himself on the other bed. In the lamplight, his pale brown eyes looked almost golden. "About what, Harry? Was it- "

"No!" He closed his eyes and took a moment to compose himself. When he began anew, they were watching him still. "No. It- it wasn't Vol- Voldemort. It wasn't him."

Snape turned aside in disgust. "And so are we both to be woken by nothing more than a little boy's _bad dream_?"

Harry stiffened with anger. To Hell with subtlety. If Snape knew anything about Harry's odd dream, he wanted to know it _now_. "Professor Snape?"

"What is it, Potter? Did a nasty monster try to eat you in your nightmare? Or did you try to- "

"Professor, who's Evan?"

Snape froze.

And beside Harry, Lupin also grew still.

"Where did you hear that name?" Snape hissed.

"Who is he, sir, and why won't he stop?"

"Severus, does he mean- "

"Silence!" Snape's hands were shaking, his face white, his jaw tense. "I will ask you again, Potter, and this time, I demand an answer. Where did you hear that name?"

Harry flinched under the intensity of Snape's gaze. "I- I- " But still he couldn't. He glanced over at Lupin, and then back at Snape, hoping that one of then would understand.

Snape began to nod slowly, colour returning to his face. "A private matter?"

"Yes." Harry looked away, unnerved by the strange satisfaction he saw in Snape's eyes.

"Not something you wish to become public knowledge?"

"No."

"Very well." Snape nodded. "Lupin?"

"Severus?"

A sneer flitted across Snape's face for an instant. "I must speak with Potter in private."

Lupin shrugged. "All right." He turned to Harry. "Harry, if you need anything -- even if it's just someone to talk to -- I'll be in the kitchen- "

"No."

"I'm sorry, Severus?"

Snape levelled a narrow, potion-stained finger at Phineas Nigellus' empty frame. "In. Private. We will use the kitchen."

Lupin nodded. I understand. I'll be in my room, then, Harry. I assume you know where it is?"

"Yeah."

He and Snape watched Lupin leave. When Harry made to rise, Snape held up his hand in warning, and Harry stopped. They waited like that, an odd, frozen tableau, as Snape listened to something only he could hear.

After whatever it was that he was waiting for happened, Snape dropped his hand and went out of the room. Harry followed, but not too close.

In the kitchen, Snape drew out his wand, and whispered a few complicated incantations over the door knob.

"You don't trust Professor Lupin, do you?" Harry asked.

"No, I do not. And I do not trust him for the same reasons you do not trust him."

Harry sunk into a chair. "... Oh."

Snape smiled thinly at him. "You're very transparent, Potter, even for a boy your age."

"I don't like Lupin," he replied angrily.

"You have every right not to. But you will find it is not a very popular opinion these days."

"Why?" Harry snapped.

"For the same reason people have been overly sympathetic with you recently, and why your blatant disrespect has been tolerated of late."

Something tight settled around Harry's chest. "Because of... "

"Your godfather." Snape's voice softened to a whisper. "Sirius Black's death."

Harry looked away, the tightness burning away to anger and pain.

"Tell me about your dream." Snape was standing right beside him, his voice still soft. There was an odd look in his eyes. Harry looked away.

"I was in the desert, at- at a temple, and I was following Evan up stairs carved into the rock itself. He wouldn't slow down. I wanted him to, but he wouldn't."

"And why did you think to ask me about this?" A sharp edge had returned to Snape's voice.

"Because." Harry suddenly found it very difficult to continue. "Because he called me by your name." His tongue felt like a swollen, dead thing in his mouth. "Because in my dream, I was you."

Beside him, Snape made an odd noise, somewhere between a snort and a grunt. " _Really_."

His tone made Harry defensive. "Yeah. Really. I'm not making this up."

Snape took a step towards the fireplace. "I never said you were."

"I- what?"

"I believe you that you had this dream."

"Do you know why?"

A razor's-edge of a smile. "I fail to see why that is of any import to you- "

"Because I want to know what's going on!" His voice began to rise, but Harry didn't care. " _You_ know what's going on, and I want you to tell me!"

The smile faded from Snape's face. "Now why would you assume _that_?"

Harry slammed his fists into the table and leapt to his feet, toe to toe with Snape. He glared up at him. "Because you _know_ ," he hissed. "Tell me."

Snape raised a hand. "Sit down, Potter."

Harry didn't move.

Snape raised his voice. "Sit _down_ , Potter."

Harry sunk back into his chair. "I want to know. I have a right to know."

"Perhaps." he lifted a finger to quell Harry's protests. "But that is not up for debate at the moment." Snape rubbed at his eyes. "Do you remember the discussion you had with the Headmaster, before we first began your summer sessions?"

Harry nodded.

"The disciplines of the mind are strange and fickle things, Potter. Their magics are subtle, and rarely understood- "

" _I_ don't understand."

Snape sighed. "Do try to keep up, Potter. The teaching -- and learning -- of Occlumency and its related disciplines on occasion has been known to establish a- resonance, for lack of a better word, between the student and the teacher- "

"Oh, God." Harry felt sick.

A smirk twitched across Snape's mouth. "My sentiments exactly."

"That's why it has to be you, and not Dumbledore, because we already had a- a- " Harry found himself at a loss for words, and could only make a vague bridging gesture between his head and Snape's.

"Yes. Tenuous and faint though it was, a- connection had already been made."

"Is this why I dreamt I was you?"

"No."

"... What?"

"You did not dream you were me, Potter."

"Yes, I did!"

Snape furrowed his brow. "No, you did not, Potter. _I_ dreamt I was me. You simply watched my dreams through my eyes."

"Oh. That's- that's a bit better."

Snape smiled humourlessly. "Perhaps. But was this the first dream of this sort you've had?"

"What, like yours?"

"No. Any odd dreams in particular."

"I- I- " It sounded absurd, even in his head. _I do have odd dreams, I just can't remember_.

Anger crossed Snape's eyes. He leaned closer. "Tell me what they are," he hissed.

Harry averted his eyes. "I don't remember much. Lots of blood -- lakes of it -- and- and things in it, like eels or snakes- "

"How long have you been having these?"

"A few weeks- "

"Did they start before or after the Occlumency lessons?"

"Before. Definitely."

Snape slammed a fist into the table. "Why did you tell no one of these?"

"I didn't think it was important. They're only weird dreams- "

"They’re only proof that the Dark Lord's attempt to block the link between the two of you was not as successful as we once believed!"

Harry felt his mouth go dry. "Are you saying that those are- are Voldemort's _dreams_?"

"Of course that's what I'm saying, Potter," Snape scoffed. "What reason have you -- or I -- to dream about lakes of blood?"

"I- I just thought- "

"Yes, well, clearly not hard enough."

"Am I having your dreams because I'm having his?"

Snape smiled at him oddly. "Yes, that is what I believe."

"So it _wasn't_ the Occlumency?"

"No, you foolish boy, it was because of the Occlumency, but only in part."

"In part? But you said- "

"Do not put words in my mouth. I said that it established a resonance between master and disciple -- a greater understanding and insight into how the other's mind works. _Nothing_ I have read has ever mentioned anything about shared dreams. This is far deeper than was expected."

"I- "

"I'm not _finished_ , Potter," Snape barked. "Now. There is the resonance established by the Occlumency. And it seems there is a secondary mental bond that exists between the two of us. Convoluted though it might be, but your other dreams are proof positive that it is real.

"And at its midpoint lies the Dark Lord."

"What?" Harry gripped the table and wished that his voice hadn't shaken as much as it had.

Again, that odd smile. Snape reached out a brushed a finger down Harry's scar. It was a feather-light touch, but it felt as though his scar had been set alight. The hand drew away, and Snape just as slowly pushed up the left sleeve of his dressing gown, of his nightshirt, and touched the strawberry-red mark that lay beneath. "You scar," Snape said, letting his hands drop to his sides. "The Dark Mark. The Dark Lord has touched us both, has bonded us both to him. This, and the Occlumency, only strengthened one another."

"So that's why." Harry pressed his brow against the table. The world had begun to go grey around the edges. "I think I'm going to be sick."

"In the sink, then, Potter. Ever since Lupin ate the house-elf, there's been no one to clean up the messes."

Harry got up and shakily stumbled across the room to the sink. He bent nearly double over it, and waited for the nausea to pass.

"Will they go away?" Harry asked, his voice echoing oddly.

"I haven't the faintest clue, Potter. This sort of thing has never happened before. _Are_ you going to be sick?"

Harry pushed himself upright, and waited for the dizziness to pass. "I don't think so."

"Then to bed with you. It's well past midnight and sensible people are asleep at this hour."

Harry nodded slowly and followed Snape out of the kitchen. At the doorway, Harry stopped. "Sir?"

"What _now_?"

"Sir, you never answered my question. You never told me who Evan was."

Snape stopped and smiled. In a thoughtful voice, he said, "No, I didn't, did I? Good night, Potter."

Harry watched as Snape ascended the stairs, his long black dressing gown flapping behind him.

 

Lupin's door was slightly ajar, drawing a faint line of light in the gloom. Harry approached it slowly. He had much on his mind, and too many questions that needed to be answered. Lupin knew at least the answers to some.

Harry only hoped that in his exhaustion he had not imagined the flash of recognition he'd seen in Lupin's eyes when he'd mentioned Evan to Snape. His one question to Snape, and it hadn't been answered. It was simple, stubborn curiosity at the heart of it. Harry wanted to know.

He pushed Lupin's door open. "Professor?"

Lupin had been at his bed, reading yesterday's _Prophet_. He looked up in surprise. "Harry! So how did your talk with Professor Snape go?"

Oh, God. "It was fine. But he never told me who the fellow in my dreams was. Do you know him, Professor?"

Lupin looked away. "I- I don't think it's my place to say, Harry. It's a very private matter for- "

"Oh, come _on_. He wouldn't tell me, and I know you know. _I_ won't tell him."

Lupin sighed. "All right, all right. But sit down," he said, gesturing to the other side of the bed. "It's a long story."

Harry sat, welcoming the distraction. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep anymore that night.

"If this is who I think it is, his name is Evan Rosier- "

"Oh!"

"You've heard of him?"

"Yeah. He was a Death Eater, wasn't he?"

"Yes. Among other things, yes, he was a Death Eater. I didn't know him very well, unfortunately. What I do know is that he was a smart fellow, a Prefect, and Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team for nearly three and a half years- "

"How'd he pull _that_ off? He’d have to have been in his- "

"Fourth year." Lupin laughed to himself. "Yes, that was a bit of a scandal, there. Both Beaters, the Seeker, and the Keeper were expelled from the team for unsportsmanlike behaviour. Rosier, as the most senior member left of the team, was made captain. He did a decent job of it for only fifteen.

"He was in our year, but not in our house, of course. He and Severus were very close -- they always were. I think they met on the train and just clicked. Very close."

"What, like my dad and Sirius?"

That made Lupin pause. He watched Harry, a strange light in his eyes, before he began again. "Not... Not exactly like James and Sirius. They loved each other very much -- but like brothers, Harry. Like brothers."

Harry blinked. Lupin couldn't mean... "I don't understand. Snape and Rosier- they were friends, right?"

Lupin paused again and then slowly nodded his head. "Yes. Yes, they were friends. But they were very close."

The emphasis Lupin placed on the last two words was enough to confirm Harry's suspicions. "What? Snape's a poof?" Harry made a face. "That's disgusting."

Lupin closed his eyes and began to massage the lids. "Harry... " he began, a warning tone in his voice.

"I mean, I'm not surprised," Harry continued. "If you were a woman, would _you_ want to sleep with Snape? I know I wouldn’t. No wonder he has to- "

"Harry!" Again, more forcibly. "I will not have you speak of any member of the Hogwarts staff like that. If I catch you again, you _will_ be punished."

"But it's Snape- "

"I don't care. It's inappropriate, and completely disrespectful."

"I- all right, fine." Harry crossed his arms and looked away. "What happened to Snape's 'friend' anyway?"

There was still a brittle edge to Lupin's voice, and Harry wished he knew what had brought this on. "Rosier died in February or March of 1982, not long after you first defeated Voldemort. There was a concerted effort between Magical Law Enforcement and the Aurors to round up all the remaining death Eaters- "

"They weren't that successful, were they? They let Lucius Malfoy go."

Lupin looked grim at the mention of that name. "Yes, there were some that go through and managed to talk their way out, but they were usually not very high up in the organisation -- petty thugs, mostly. No great loss.

"But the real zealots -- Voldemort's inner circle -- made no secret of their allegiance. Many died when we tried to bring them in. Many weren't even caught."

"So that's what happened. How- "

"Alastor Moody brought a building down on top of him."

"... Oh."

Lupin shrugged. "Severus didn't take it very well."

"Is that why he doesn't like Moody?"

"Among... many other reasons. It was one of the main ones. But Alastor is just that kind of person, you know. He tends to clash with a lot of people."

" _I_ like him- "

"So do I. So do Tonks, and Mundungus Fletcher, and Dumbledore. But some people just don't get along."

Harry fixed Lupin with his eyes. "Yeah."

"I'm curious, though, Harry -- what did Professor Snape say about your dream?"

Harry tensed and grabbed a fistful of the bed linens. "I- Maybe you should ask him. I didn't really understand his explanation. He said it- it had something to do with the Occlumency and my scar."

"Hm." Lupin nodded. "With luck, they should go away soon. I don't want you to be woken up every night by nightmares."

"Yeah. Me neither." Especially not Snape's. Harry didn't want to know what kind of sick things went on in his mind.

"I hope I was able to answer your questions-"

"Yeah. That pretty much covered everything Snape didn't tell me."

"Anytime you need it, I'm glad to help."

Harry stood up. "Goodnight, Professor."

"Good night, Harry."

When Harry reached the top of the stairs and looked down, he could see that Lupin's door was still open, the lights still on.

 

When Harry walked down to breakfast next morning, it was to the sounds of raised voices from the kitchen -- Snape's mostly. It was the first time he'd heard Snape and Lupin argue, and he hurried down the stairs to hear what they were arguing about.

The two of them fell silent, however, when he entered the kitchen. Snape was pale with anger, and Lupin was flushed across his cheeks and nose. They watched him both, and Harry steadied his expression, forcing his grin into something more solemn.

Snape flared his nostrils. "Potter," he spat, as he swept past Harry, "we begin at the usual time. Don't be late."

Harry watched Snape leave, and it was only when he could no longer hear him stomping up the stairs that he turned to Lupin, whose flush had faded, and now looked mildly apologetic.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that, Harry." Lupin shook his head. "Severus can be very- confrontational at times, especially when he's angry. i think what happened between the two of you upset him very much-"

"Yeah, well, it upset me too-"

"That's true, but you must understand, Harry, that Severus is a very private person-"

"I didn't ask for this!"

"I never said you did, Harry. I just want you to try to understand where Severus-"

"He's a bastard."

Lupin sighed, and changed the subject. "Are you ready for breakfast, Harry?"

Harry blinked. "... Yeah."

Lupin smiled at him as he began to busy himself st the wood stove. "You know, I think your book list should be arriving any day now. It's always a bit late after your OWLs."

Harry made a vague noise, and sat down at the table.

 

The Occlumency lessons that day went no differently than any other, much to Harry's surprise. Though Snape did seem to be much tenser than unsual, and he spent most of the time between _Legilimency_ attacks nursing a cup of coffee -- the mug reading 'World's Meanest Teacher,' which Harry found funny in spite of himself.

As the day before, Harry was able to resist Snape's attacks for a few moments, but as the day wore on, Harry's resistance diminished as his exhaustion grew. A part of him wondered if Snape were doing this on purpose, working him so hard that that night Harry would not dream. Selfish though Snape's motives might be, it did make Harry feel a bit grateful.

And any dreams he had that night, he wasn't able to remember the next morning.

 

Sunday was no different -- Snape was tense, Lupin was withdrawn, and Harry spent much of the morning trying no to yawn.

But after lunch, after Harry and Lupin had eaten, and once Snape had returned from his walk, proved to be a different matter.

After Snape's third casting of _Legilimens_ , he began to grow very pale, very quickly. he froze in mid-motion, his eys closed and his jaw tensed.

Lupins stood abruptly and approached him, worry in his eyes. "Severus?" he asked softly.

Harry took a step forward too -- he'd never seen Snape like this.

Snape hissed in pain at that moment, and grabbed his left arm, just below the elbow. His hand was clutching so tightly that Harry could see that Snape's knuckles had nearly all gone bone-white.

Harry knew exactly what this was because he'd seen it once before, and that had been an experience he wasn't likely to forget. Beneath his clothes, Snape's Dark Mark was burning black, causing him great pain.

Lupin lay a hand on Snape's shoulder and made to speak, but before he could get a word out, Snape had shaken him off. "Dont -- touch -- me!" Snape gasped, his voice hoarse and unrecogniseable.

Harry advanced again and wetted his lips. "Sir?"

Snape looked at him, eyes wide with pain and shock.

Harry didn't bother to wait for a response, but soldiered on with his question. "Do you want me to owl Professor Dumbledore?" Because a summons now could only mean one thing.

Snape laughed faintly, a note of hysteria to his voice. "Oh, there's no need for that, Potter," Snape answered finally, his voice steadier, but only just. "He'll find out soon enough."

Lupin took advantage of this and slid an arm around Snape to steady him. "Severus? Severus, are you alright to Apparate?"

Snape drew away and straightened himself, dropping his arms to his side. He gave Lupin a brief, sardonic nod, and vanished with a 'crack'.

Lupin put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Let's go wait down in the kitchen."

 

Tonks Apparated in some three hours later, sweaty and disheveled. Lupin leapt to his feet the moment she appeared.

"Azkaban is under siege," she said, and vanished as quickly as she had come.

Lupin exchanged a glance with Harry before he returned to the stove to make more tea, and in his eyes, Harry saw a reflection of the worry and dread he himself felt.

 

McGonagall arrived not long after that, accompanied by a small group of people that Harry did not recognise, but assumed were only members of the Order of the Phoenix he hadn't met yet.

No introductions were made, and McGonagall ignored him as easily as if he hadn't been in the room.

"Lupin," she said, "I'm very sorry to have to interrupt this--"

Lupin waved that aside. "I understand completely."

"But the Order is going to need to take back its Headquarters, at least for the time being."

Lupin smiled wrily. "I think we'll be able to work around you."

"Good." McGonagall nodded at him. "Several of out un-officials are taking part in the battle -- and to have them treated at St Mungo's would raise more questions than we are willing to answer. We are going to need to convert the kitchen and several of the larger drawing rooms into triage centres. And the Apparition room will need to be conscripted back to its former purpose."

"I have no objections to any of that. And it's not like we're going to be using the Apparition room much at the moment. Severus was summoned to Voldemort to do his part in this, and it's hard to hold any sort of lesson when the teacher is away."

McGonagall sighed at his reply, and then seemed to notice Harry for the first time. "Mister Potter-- "

Harry stood up quickly. "Professor, I want to help. I've been--"

" _Potter_. While I do appreciate your devotion, you are still an underaged wizard, and there is little you can do without getting in the way or breaking half a dozen of out by-laws--"

"Then let me do that, Professor--"

"Potter," she repeated, sounding suddenly very weary. "it would be best for all concerned -- for reasons I do not have time to get in to at the moment -- if you were to go to your room right now and lock the door-- "

"I--"

"You are only sixteen, Potter. There are still some things that I think it would be best if you did not see."

His shoulders sagged. "... Oh."

"Of you go then, Potter. Someone will bring you some dinner when it's ready."

"Thanks."

At the door, Harry paused and turned around. "Professor?"

"Yes, Potter?"

"When will it be alright for me to come down?"

She looked pensive. "In the morning. It should all be over by the time the sun comes up."

 

Lupin brought him the promised dinner a few hours later. Harry had spent the time trying to revise for Potions, but after he found himseld reading page after page, and being completely unable to remember any of it, he decide to stop for the night.

Dinner turned out to be fried eggs and sausages.

"It's what we had,"Lupin said, "and it was the easiest thing to make. And, to be honest, I'm nowhere near the cook Severus is."

"Snape can cook?" Harry asked around a mouthful of food.

Lupin nodded. "Oh, yes. He's made most of what you've eaten while you've been here."

Harry nearly choked on his bit of sausage.

"He says," Lupin continued, "that it has something to do with also being good at Potions, that the two just go along-- but, honestly, I think he's making it up. My brother, for instance, was very good at Potions, but still cannot manage to bring water to a boil to make tea-- " Lupin stopped, and looked embarassed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to drift off like that. McGonagall needs me downstairs soonish, and I wanted to make sure you were all right. Are you?"

"Y-- yeah."

"I'm glad. You know, the only place in all of Britain that is safer than Grimmauld Place right now is Hogwarts. We're all safe here."

"Oh."

Lupin stood.

**Author's Note:**

> An amusingly condensed summary of how the rest of the story would have gone. 
> 
> Sirius: Wow! I'm suddenly not dead!  
> Harry: I'm annoying and surly for no reason.  
> Remus, Ron, Hermione: I don't think the author likes us...  
> Sirius: Maybe it's the isolation talking, but Snape suddenly seems very hot.  
> Snape: ... Could my life get any worse?  
> *He is OUTED as a DEATH EATER to the Press and a SPY to the Death Eaters*  
> Wormtail: The answer to that question is, yes.


End file.
